Elferingewort
by AnAppleOfDiscord
Summary: America chafes under England's unwavering attention and the globe's reaction regarding his...downsizing. Will liberty prevail in a world deadset on confining the hero with bedtimes and booster seats? Can he last a Winter Holiday in the U.K. when the Unseelie Court gets dangerously interested in him? Sequel to Wendigo. NO PAIRINGS. Father Son Fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Slenderman. Or _The Homesman_. Or _Ironclad_. Or _First Knight_. Or Chick-fil-A. Or _Bambi_. Hushaby (American Lullaby of disputed origin-Is its roots in England? Scotland? Africa? Lots of folks dispute it-feel free to ponder.) Or SparkNotes. Or Lingo or Scrabble or Clue. etc.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Rough est: from 1750s to 1820s jigsaw puzzles were primarily used to teach geography, it was from the 1820s on that they started incorporating other images. VW scandal is currently a pain in the butt in the U.S. I have named Al's pet unicorn since I couldn't find an official one. Fanon seems fairly confident that Americat is a Maine Coon cat. Paraphrased _Midsummer Night's Dream_ endearment. I believe Al  & Tex are partial to American-Made products-like cars. Stairs. There are protesters in Hawaii who are against the construction of a telescope on Mauna Kea (a sacred mountain). Elizabeth Barrett Browning was a well-known English poet of the Victorian Era who crusaded for social reform (especially in regards to children). Alfred believes in NY sewer alligators. Scrowl: American slang-combo for scowling and growling to express deep displeasure (usually involves intense scrunching of facial features-may also employ flashing teeth in a snarl).

 **Note:** This is a Sequel. I'm not saying you've got to read Wendigo first (You're a being with free will) just be ready to hit the ground running, we're approaching The Drop Off. : D

 **Chapter 1: Sewer Baby Alligator Love**

* * *

Alfred shifted restlessly in his seat and tried to pay attention as Congress gave him the SparkNotes version of what was going on.

Blah blah blah Volkswagen emissions scandal blah blah blah the company was still working on rectifying the situation.

Which still didn't help America. Those diesel beasts were emitting 40 times what was allowed in his borders. Fix it. Dammit! And Germany needed to pay some fines. America's Clean Air Act demanded it!

 _I already have to jump through friggin' hoops because just about everyone in my country wants a car and the rest of the world wants to hassle me about that._

Alfred sighed and looked around. Everybody had totally overreacted upon seeing his new...vertically challenged self, and the first hour of the Joint Session was a total waste with people pinching his cheeks and wanting to take photos of his new form.

They then began brainstorming for how he should explain his situation to other nations-what words to use, what ones to avoid. If he sounded as bitter as he felt, they'd view it as a weakness and capitalize on it. That had to be avoided at all costs.

Two hours later after all concerns were presented and argued, the official government approved story (apparently they had first begun drafting ideas since they were made aware of his condition a few days ago) was that his...downsizing...was a delayed effect resulting from the speed of growth he'd undertaken in his youth being adjusted with his recession. The government was calling it an Age Adjustment and explaining it away as a perfectly understandable physical reaction to the difficulties his country was currently facing. Ya know...regardless of how that made no sense and how his fellow nations had all seen him go through various economic depressions over the years. But the world was probably used to getting bureaucratic bullshit tailored answers from him anyway and his legislature's insistence that he read their paragraph off an index card kinda confirmed that this wasn't the truth. Cuz if it was the truth, it'd be a hell of a lot shorter. As it was: magic. Magic was the reason. According to England, he'd had a spell...break and...this was the result.

Geez, all the other countries were probably gonna think his government had been experimenting on him again and that he must be recovering from some heinous nuclear testing gone wrong.

All of which was still better than trying to explain the truth which defied logic.

The Joint Session was surprisingly full, only twenty members or so were off on vacation, or sick, or having surgery, or being detained by state crises. Why four, who couldn't physically attend, were doing so by online streaming! They'd phone in when they had something to say or ask.

It should've been gratifying knowing that _**he**_ could get most of his legislature to show up on his account! Except all the piteous looks he kept getting regardless of what they knew, or thought they knew, was really winding him up.

Heroes don't do pity.

Which was probably why he was getting so riled up being around his old man lately.

England was seated _riiiiight_ beside him, wearing his default grumpy expression as he studiously took down notes. Due to his involvement in America's rescue, Alfred's government was willing to make all sorts of exceptions for him. Like letting him be here right now. Meetings with his legislature should've been private.

But Arthur, the seasoned nation he was, knew how to press his advantage. According to Sandra Johnson, an assistant he'd talked to earlier during a coffee break (or what should've been a coffee break but Alfred was forced to get water), Arthur had spearheaded the effort of recovering Alfred-largely without much support from Alfred's government or his own...which touched, and irritated, and embarrassed Alfred. Especially, when Sandra made the unnecessarily Hallmark Movie-esque comment about how ' _Parents will do whatever it takes to get their children back safe and sound.'_

She'd smiled a bit dreamily after that, and said she'd overheard a bit of the report and how his dad sounded so brave and that Alfred was such a lucky boy.

If he didn't know better, he'd think she harbored a bit of a crush on Arthur…nah, he shouldn't insult her by even postulating that. Arthur was...Arthur...and he was old and crusty and cantankerous...and those eyebrows...

Still, her words had kinda summed up everyone's feelings for the Brit. Everyone felt indebted to him for the "great service" he'd performed for them, even Alaska, Hawaii, and Texas. All the deference they kept paying the old man...Dude, it was eating at him.

The sad fact was...Arthur was...the Hero.

It burned.

And he couldn't escape it because he couldn't go anywhere without England hovering around. Yeah, he'd flown home to the U.K. a couple times to manage stuff there but he kept...coming back. Using the internet, phone conferences, and online chatting to complete his work from the States.

When America frowned at him, he immediately returned the eye contact and paused mid-scrawl. Instead of ignoring him or huffing about the discourtesy he was showing the Speaker, he asked seriously, "Are you alright?"

Alfred nodded vigorously and scootched back in his seat. England had strongly advocated for America to sit out the meeting as it was "much too soon" for him to be worrying about such things and that Congress should just send him a concise report.

Usually, England was the one harping on him to uphold his responsibilities and now he was the one trying to write him a free pass.

Yeah, life was weird since his...downsize and England's behavior was probably the weirdest part.

Alfred expected him to be gooshy at first because they'd ya know...been through a lot of draaaaama. But once the coast was clear, he was s'posed to clam back up and stalk off and Alfred was s'posed to take that as his cue to shake it off and piece together whatever he had left and keep going. Ya know like Bambi and his dad in the original movie.

It'd been over two weeks already. It was high time for everybody to back up, turn away, and let him lick his wounds.

'Cuz there was A LOT his ego needed to recover from.

Getting kidnapped and rescued repeatedly was…lame.

Even lamer was the fact that he didn't kick ANY ass...at all. NONE. End of story. Roll the credits his name was NOT under Hero or Dual Protagonist/Hero it was firmly lodged under Dude in Distress.

Frickin' Canada saw more action than him…

Was _**still**_ seeing more action; he'd texted him that morning to tell him he was doing a patrol around the Great Lakes Region. Alfred's gut told him his brother wasn't just checking over the Canadian side.

Alfred chewed his bottom lip woefully.

And his government wasn't giving him a chance to redeem himself. There were still some wendigo creeping around and his boss had given the green light for a slew of Special Task Units devoted to eliminating them. Units that...America wasn't allowed to join...he'd already asked. Which sucked because they probably got all the cool gadgets and outfits and everything.

His mission was "Adjustment" which was code for Wow-We-Have-No-Clue-What-To-With-You-Now.

Meanwhile, even at home nobody was letting him forget how much his circumstances had changed. They all kept trying to get him to "talk about it." "It" being the vast accumulation of unpleasant things that spanned his lifetime from Roanoke to U.S. to now.

He didn't need to talk about it, he just needed to accept it and move on. That was America's way. He didn't do self-reflection, his To-Do List was too long to waste time on that.

Meanwhile, Arthur flipped a biscuit when he learned that Tex had let him download all the seances they'd done to track him down and viewed them in one go by himself. Kept insisting that Alfred should've had "emotional support available" while watching those.

Alfred didn't get what the big deal was. So just about nobody liked him as a baby. So what? So he was an angry little cuss in the 1700s. So his super strength had really been magic from the land that he'd...kinda squandered doing stupid stuff like swinging bison and carrying his whale. Oh and some crazy ol' bat chucked him off a cliff. So what? He'd died in worse ways.

Arthur had been really touchy about it. Had told off Texas so harshly, he was amazed his brother's ears hadn't ignited in flames.

And then Arthur had knelt down and set his hands on Alfred's shoulders and looked him in the eye and demanded to know how Alfred felt.

He hadn't liked the way Arthur's green eyes had zeroed in on him when he gave his honest answer: He didn't feel much of anything.

While he was remembering bits and pieces of being Roanoke, he didn't remember his less than graceful coerced cliff dive. Didn't remember most of what he'd seen. He remembered breaking the mirror, but growing up suddenly? No...no he didn't remember that.

He was just watching a stranger who was him. A prologue that he already knew the end result of; he'd survived it all. That was all that mattered.

But Arthur kept stressing feelings. That he must feel something. And he could share it, whatever it was. Was he angry? Disappointed? Afraid? Repulsed? Upset?

Philosophers had that luxury. Philosophers could stop and feel. Soldiers needed to accept and plan accordingly. Alfred had been a soldier since 1776.

When he'd had no further comment to make other than that it was...informative, England surprised him by giving him a hug and telling him they could talk when he was "ready."

Arthur really seemed to think what that woman did was a travesty, but Arthur had always had a pretty soft spot for kids. He'd been pretty adamant about getting his own nation as well as Alfred's to stop relying on child labor through the Victorian Age. He'd often quoted Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poetry when making his arguments.

From then on, Alfred shrugged off every attempt Arthur made to broach the topic of "that tragic night" aka Roanoke's last Halloween.

Nah, the real tragedy Alfred was struggling against was how nobody was letting him have coffee and they were all trying to restrict his soda intake.

With his caffeine levels entering the critically low RED ALERT stage and the Speaker of the House going on and on and on...Alfred rubbed his eye irritably and swung his legs.

He missed touching the ground. He missed the way the chair would squeak whenever his once-muscular form had twisted or leaned. He missed his adult voice, and his adult hands, and the adult way people would nod their acknowledgment of him whenever he moved through crowds or entered buildings.

He leaned back against the chair, eyelids growing heavier and heavier and heavier.

He dreamed he was living with John Hancock again. The man had taken him in after the Revolution was over since it was clear that Alfred wasn't too good at living on his own or politics or business or really any skill besides farming and fighting.

John was trying to walk him through tying a cravat for the umpteenth time-his voice so full of mirth that he couldn't help snickering while giving the instructions, when a British voice murmured in his ear, "We're breaking for lunch now."

He jolted. Dude! Super embarrassing; here he was, trying to convince everyone that the hero was NOT out of commission, and his body sabotages his plans by indulging in nap time.

He glanced around to see House Representatives and State Senators filing out of the room.

"Come on now, let's you get you home. It's too soon." Arthur reached for Alfred's suitcase.

America balked as he stood up and almost tripped as he wrestled his briefcase back, "Wha-no! I-I'm just hungry! I just need a soda!"

England's nose wrinkled, "You do not need a can of sugar."

Alfred grit his teeth. Old man kept trying to decide everything for him. It was bad enough that his Driver's License had been confiscated and cancelled on the President's orders-making him dependent on England and Hawaii to drive him places. Which sucked because Arthur made him ride in the backseat in a sissy car booster and he drove super slow! But deciding what he got to eat? It was the final straw!

England took him by the hand and led them over to the door.

America snatched his hand back, "No! I've missed enough important meetings, I-"

"And you're already missing this one as well. Your body just happens to be present."

Alfred glowered.

England pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh "This is too much. You need more time to rest. Just look at how easily you're losing your temper. That's unlike you."

America flushed. Darn him for being right. But he couldn't help it. It was all just so frustrating! All of sudden everybody was doubting his capabilities. Yes, his outsides had changed, but that was it! Inside he was the same! Wasn't that what they kept pushing? Kept trying to indoctrinate in little kids and adults alike? That what's _inside_ was what counted?

He was the same, and dammit England, he didn't wanna hold hands! He dodged several more attempts by England as they walked down the hall to the staircase.

England had a bad case of what America deemed 'Sewer Baby Alligator Love.' When alligators were small, they were cute. And when things were cute, people think _'Oh I gotta get me one of these.'_ And they take one home…and then the baby alligator starts gettin' bigger and less cute and then it's time to flush that snapper down the toilet.

Yeah, nobody had definitively proved that there were alligators in New York...but there could be...maybe...and the reason they hadn't proved it was because...they were smart and avoided detection...the cunning fiends…

There had to be a reason why those stories persisted!

Anyways, in England's case they had a bizarre situation where the clock had been reversed and America was now back in his "cute" form.

Which now led to this awkwardness...because in essence, Arthur was trying to…"unflush" him.

The Briton sighed again but continued more gently, "Everyone will understand. I'll return after dropping you off and see if they can compile a report for you instead. Tonight I'll go over my notes with you on the parts you likely missed. I understand how frustrating this must be, but...forcing yourself to return to work before you're ready...won't do anyone any good. Alfred...after your harrowing ordeal, no one is expecting you to-"

Alfred had stopped paying attention after the dreaded word "notes."

Notes equaled fate worse than death. Let a wendigo chew on him, it'd be kinder. Arthur didn't DO shorthand which meant he'd be regurgitating everything Congress had to say, though with more barks of _"pay attention now"_ and " _do you understand? Explain it back to me to demonstrate."_ And when he failed or didn't understand some obscure reference to a previous historical event-he'd condemn Alfred's lazy disinterest in world history.

"No" he stomped a foot against a step. "I'm not going, I'll stay awake for the rest of it. Stop pestering m-"

"Alfred, Alfred use the handrail."

"I just need a Coke or a Pepsi since you won't lemme have a latte or-"

"Watch your footing!"

He knew how to use stairs dammit!

"Alf-"

He turned to throw a contemptuous scrowl and his foot slipped.

His legs were much shorter now, and he couldn't correct himself in time. He tripped and tumbled down to the ground floor.

He stared up and saw the entryway chandelier. It...wasn't the first time he'd fallen down those stairs, but usually it was late at night and he didn't have so many witnesses.

There'd been a collective "OH" of concern.

His Texas and Virginia Senators were rushing over with anxious faces.

He groaned and started to prop himself up with his elbows as he desperately racked his brain for something disarming to say when there was a nearly hysterical shout of "NO! Nonono. Don't move!"

Alfred should've taken that as a signal to sprint as far away as he could because now it was too late and Arthur was kneeling beside him-hands flitting over his neck, head, torso and then limbs with such scrutiny that a pat down by his airport security would've been less invasive.

Utter humiliation made all the small bruises sting worse and he couldn't quite hold back his sniffle…

Worse, Arthur heard it and the fussing increased exponentially.

* * *

Alfred sighed from his spot on the couch.

Even _Wheel of Fortune_ wasn't enough to make him feel better.

Arthur had driven him straight home after he concluded that Alfred hadn't broken any bones. He couldn't even wheedle him into going through the drive-thru for _Chick-fil-A_. A shame because he wanted waffle fries really bad.

Hawaii had stared as they came in arguing. The middle aged woman tried to smooth her tangled hair with her hands and had little success.

Arthur had given her an unimpressed look, which she begrudgingly accepted; it was 1:10 pm and she was still in her pajamas with mismatching slippers. She'd disappeared for a shower pretty quick after that.

In a whirlwind of paternal authority, Arthur opened his briefcase and emptied a brown paper sack, he'd apparently packed for Alfred, onto a plate.

Alfred frowned at the ham cheese sandwich. He'd had a ton of sandwiches. It was Arthur's "Go To" meal prep since he was banned from using Alfred's oven and stove.

England poured a glass of milk and set it down with a hard clack beside the plate.

"Eat your sandwich" Arthur growled before making his departure back to D.C.

That'd been three hours ago, Alfred directed a frown at the plate, where it still sat untouched on the counter. Hawaii had scolded him as she left for the grocery store.

" _Honey, don't waste food. Doctor said you're underweight. You need to eat regularly. You don't want that, pick something else, okay?"_

Everybody was just so bossy lately.

He dug his hand into the bowl of popcorn ate a big bite and then offered the remaining scoop to Miss GlimmerGlam, the unicorn Arthur had gifted him with a few years back.

She snuffled his hand and shyly ate the popped kernels. Seeing her, was the one good aspect of recovering his magic.

He'd always left food and water out for her on the off chance that Arthur wasn't completely cracked, but...he kinda assumed Americat was the one nibbling at it.

When he commented on her, Texas admitted he'd been able to see her the whole time and just didn't say anything.

" _I thought it'd creep you out that she sometimes sleeps in your closet."_

Which yeah, that was a little creepy, but it at least explained some of the weird sounds he'd heard in the past. He'd totally thought it was Slenderman with a cold coming to get him.

She wasn't the only pet happy to have him back. Melville, his whale, had been especially playful and then there was Americat-speaking of whom was currently butting his face for a kiss.

"Meowwww."

"Yes, pretty kitty, I see you."

Americat was superly duper affectionate lately. Geez, had no one been loving on him? He wasn't usually this clingy. Ever since America had returned, Americat had been rather demanding. Every time he sat down he was pounced on.

Currently his Maine Coon cat was curled up on top of him, which meant he had at least 25 pounds of cat on his chest. Probably more, since Americat tended to eat his feelings.

The front door opened and shut.

"I'm back" a tired British voice announced.

Alfred frowned and hunkered down in his seat.

"I'm back!" was repeated a bit louder. There was the click clack of Arthur's dress shoes pacing about.

Alfred pursed his lips.

"Alfred? Poppet?"

The shoes were hurrying into the family room.

Quick! Feign sleep!

He heard Arthur's shoes come to a halt in front of him

There was a sigh and the bowl of popcorn was lifted from his lap. There was a pause and a huff as Arthur passed the sandwich in the kitchen. There were several clangs of the metal trashcan lid being opened and closed, the sound of hands being washed, and the general commotion that accompanied tea being made.

Alfred swore there was more tea in his house now, then there'd ever been while he was a colony. All of his uncles kept stopping by and they were all finicky about what tea they wanted.

Alfred made it darn clear that he wasn't purchasing a drop of their inky leaf water blends, which prompted them all to bring tea when they visited or mail order it while they were here.

It was ridiculous; there were three basketfuls of tea and more kept coming in.

It. Just. Wasn't. Right.

The only exemption he made was for Sweet Tea. And that was just for Texas, cuz he'd bellyache about it if Alfred denied him.

Still, tea must've had some magical effect on others because England had started humming. It also sounded like he was setting the table.

Alfred nodded off to the soothing white noise of domestic chores taking place.

He blearily registered someone removing his shoes and tucking a blanket around him. He opened his eyes when someone sat down beside him.

"Hello there?" Arthur murmured softly.

"Hi."

"Feeling better?" Arthur inquired.

Alfred nodded, "...a little."

"Good" Arthur fixed his attention on the television.

Alfred followed his gaze and ugh! News. The geezer had changed the channel and worse...he'd set the remote on his side of the couch. Alfred would have to reach over him to get it, if he wanted to change it to game shows or cartoons.

He sighed and reached for his soda; because even hours old warm Mountain Dew was still okay (unlike Dr. Pepper which lost its carbonation super fast and became nasty).

Arthur frowned at the soda can as he brought it up for a sip.

"How many have you had?" was the imperious question.

"Two" he lied. Three and a half. It'd be four once he polished this one off.

"You've only been home since one!" Arthur snagged it away. "Goodness Alfred, you've a much smaller body now and that much caffeine in your system could have disastrous effects on you. I wager it has a good deal to do with your sleep-"

"Okay, okay, yes. I understand."

Arthur stood up and left.

He returned a few moments later with a juicebox.

Alfred blinked at the drink. Arthur had already poked the straw through the hole and everything.

"There you go. It's cherry. You like cherry."

He did like cherry, but it was still kinda...patronizing.

"I bought quite a few last Saturday, so if you finish that one you can choose from grape and apple too."

"Thanks."

"Now, you can look over my notes toni..tomorrow or if you'd prefer I have a recording of the session as well. They're compiling a report which they'll fax to us by Friday. I stipulated that we don't want it over 200 pages, so they'll need to prioritize."

Alfred stared hard and gave a flat, "...thanks."

Us.

We.

WE.

Frickin' WE. There hadn't been a "we" or an "our" since the late 1770s. He was a sovereign nation!

Satisfied, Arthur settled back down and turned the volume up on the news station. Boredom dulled the edges of Al's indignation and turned the world hazy; Alfred floated in and out of consciousness.

Eventually he awoke to find himself nestled under Arthur's arm. Americat had moved off him and was on Arthur's other side enjoying an ear rub.

Arthur gave him a half-smile and a light squeeze.

It was hard to stay annoyed with him, when he was being nice…

And he was so warm too.

How he could stay warm in cold November, Alfred didn't know, but boy was he jealous.

He pressed in a bit further. Because he was cold. Not that he was lonely or upset or affection-starved or-

Arthur chuckled and tucked the blanket around him again.

Hawaii came home not long after with an armful of groceries, grumbling about traffic.

To his delight, Alfred noticed Hawaii had already starting collecting necessities for Thanksgiving dinner. That was a turkey under her arm! They might even need a second one-since it seemed that his uncles and Canada were coming by-they'd already texted him to ask what to bring. Tex had a strong feeling Spain would appear.

" _Did you invite him?" Alfred asked._

" _No. But I gotta feeling. I'll leave an upstairs window open on the day. Nobody answer the door if he knocks-that's too easy. Gotta make him work for it."_

Yeah, they had a strange relationship. He hoped Tex would sweep the rain gutters at least. He didn't wanna have to call an ambulance on one of his favorite holidays.

Unfortunately, Alfred's efforts to help unload the car were commandeered by Texas himself, who'd returned from his own trade meeting in D.C., shivering, disgruntled, and snappy.

His tall, lean form was wet and his hat was drooping-must've started raining pretty hard between the bus stop and here.

"I do not like Public Transit, Al."

Alfred returned the huffy tone, "You wrecked your truck and you didn't want to leave early with England and me in his renta-"

"Wendigo wrecked my truck."

"Insurance doesn't cover wendigo."

"You're bein' impossible!"

"Paper covers rock!"

"AL!"

"Our rates went up!"

"Why can't I use _your_ truck!?"

"Cuz it's mine!"

"YOU CAN'T DRIVE IT! YOU CAN'T SEE OVER THE DASH! YOU CAN'T REACH THE PEDALS! YOU CAN'T-CAN'T EVEN…."

It got so quiet, they could hear the oven beep as it reached its designated temperature.

"T-texas, can you-you help me in here please?" Hawaii called.

Alfred frowned, "I can hel-"

"No baby, it's alright. England, can you finish unloading th-"

"Of course."

"Well-well I can help _you_ -" Alfred scurried after the Briton.

"No Sweet, it's raining and you don't have shoes on."

Alfred glanced around, but England had hidden his shoes somewhere good.

"I…"

He looked up, but his father had already left.

Banished to the couch...cuz he was useless.

He curled up with Americat and turned the channel to the Lingo game show and pretended that his vision wasn't so blurry with liquid woe that he could make adequate guesses. He also pretended not to notice how all three of his family members had congregated in the kitchen and were having a very quiet conversation.

Dammit, he'd fought for Freedom of Assembly. He just didn't expect it to be used against him.

Arthur cropped back up soon after.

"Alf-ohh..."

Yeah…

He was in the fetal position.

Arthur sat down near him, with his chin resting on his hand he commented, "This was just a hard day, wasn't it Sweet?"

Alfred bit his lip, and nodded miserably.

Arthur pulled him onto his lap.

"Are you still hurting from your tumble?"

"...'barrassed."

"Really? Why is that?"

Alfred sent him a dark look.

"Of all the embarrassing scandals involving your politicians, I think you're flattering yourself if you believe one little trip down the stairs is going to usurp the limelight. I'm certain by this time tomorrow, someone will have done something infinitely more humiliating. Why, with cellphones and alcohol at their disposal, I can guarantee it."

Alfred felt his lips twitch with a small smile.

Arthur turned out to be really good at Lingo...and Alfred took that as a sign that Arthur should be his Scrabble partner from now on because somebody had to help him defeat Alaska (who had a fifty year winning streak).

As delicious smells began wafting through the air, he found himself growing fidgety. He practically flew off the couch when Hawaii called them in.

He was delighted to see BBQ ribs and grilled shrimp salad! And pineapple spears! Cool! He wasn't sure what the occasion was, but it must've been good news or something.

At first he and Texas had a bit of a stand off as they both met up, plates in hand, in front of the tray of ribs.

And then Tex sighed, "It is _your_ truck. I-"

"I..." Alfred scuffed a toe "I think we've got some trading cards we could sell. And there's some surplus furniture I can consign. I really need to go through some of my junk, I'm sure there's some stuff I-"

"I got stuff too. At the Ranch, there's plenty I could get rid of and not miss, I-"

"Just...buy American kay?"

"Tch. O' course."

Things settled down between them then and Alfred didn't mind having to sit on a Webster's Dictionary to see over the top of the table so much.

When Alfred noticed Texas was smirking more than usual, he looked for the source of his amusement: Arthur.

The Englishman was finding the meal a bit challenging, since he was trying to be prim and proper and eat it with his knife and fork. Except he was clearly unprepared for how much sauce they liked to serve their food with.

"Come on Arthur, get in there" Texas laughed "I thought you were medieval! Didn't cha eat with your fingers while watchin' jousting an' all that?"

"Yeah Arthur!" Alfred chirped, his mood improving tremendously with food. He really shouldn't have skipped lunch. As he licked sauce off his fingers, he added "Like _A Knight's Tale_ or oooh _Ironclad_ or, or, or maybe _First Kn_ -"

Arthur frowned, eyebrows twitching, "Alfred...napkin."

"Hmm? Oh." Alfred had never been conservative when it came to ribs.

When Arthur continued to tut at the sight of him, Alfred began mopping at his mouth. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough in Arthur's book and after dinner he insisted on running him a bath.

Afterwards, as he tromped back to his room in his (now too large) robe he found a pair of footed pajamas waiting for him on his bed. Arthur kept buying him those because he didn't approve of Alfred going to bed in an oversized shirt.

" _You'll catch your death of a cold," he tutted._

Even though temperature wasn't how colds worked, but...whatever. He'd long ago accepted that he wasn't gonna break his ol' man of some of his superstitions. He still freaked when Alfred left serving utensils in food and put it in the fridge. Even though his silverware hadn't had nickel or aluminum or copper in it for a long time.

Besides, the footies were toasty, if a bit embarrassing. He was currently sporting a pattern of racecars as he went back downstairs. He hoped Francis wasn't creeping around somewhere waiting to blackmail him with another embarrassing sleepwear photo.

* * *

Alfred withheld a sigh because it was Tex's turn to pick a movie, which meant it was a Western or a Frontier Film. As always. And usually Al LOVED that stuff, but _The Homesman_ was depressing as hell.

They were already thirty minutes in, and he wasn't sure he could make it.

He rolled over on the cushy quilt he'd laid on the floor and hugged a pillow. When Alfred complained (as heckling was an agreed upon right of those who didn't get to choose the movie of the night) Texas just argued that life wasn't always full o' daisies, they would know.

Yeah, that time era was tough...but it wasn't always bleak. Al hadn't thought it was that bleak. When he said so, Tex gave him a look of disbelief.

"Are ya rememberin' the same era I am? The madness of isolation gettin' ta people, the blood feuds over claim jumpin', the lawlessness, the harsh short uncertain lives people led, faulty wagon wheels!?"

"...I guess. _I_ remember the open trail and the stars and drinking coffee from tin cups and you telling scary stories by the fire and you playing your guitar and me fiddlin' and oxen and learning when to chance it and drive through a river."

Texas called him a hopeless Romantic and unpaused his movie.

Alfred sighed and kicked his feet. He was seriously considering building a fort with cushions and blankets to entertain himself since Tex seemed emotionally invested in his movie choice, when Arthur entered the room with something behind his back.

A 5000 piece puzzle! Heck yeah!

Damn.

It sure was hard to stay irritated with that guy when he kept getting him presents.

"Love puzzles!" Alfred exclaimed as he admired a dark green piece "Ya know, I remember when all of 'em were just world maps, do you remember that?"

"I remember" Arthur murmured softly.

"I got one for Christmas from Madison. He was all _'there are more countries in Europe besides Britain and France and Spain. Familiarize yourself-Ignorance will do you no favors._ ' It was so cool when they started making different pictures."

England sat down on the quilt, "...you still like puzzles, then?"

"Yeah, I usually don't have the time to do them though," Alfred sifted through the pieces. "Ya wanna build the border of it first?"

"Very well." England turned the cover of the box over to increase the difficulty. Which was good, because America liked challenges. All he knew was that the picture had a tree.

It was nice. Texas didn't have the patience for this sort of task and Momilani was more of an arts-n-crafts person than a gameboard and puzzle piecer. She couldn't figure out the rules of _Clue_ to save her life.

He and Arthur had gotten the perimeter and a good amount of a corner done when Momilani's french tip painted toes came to a halt just a few inches away.

She clasped both hands together "Alfie, sweetheart. I need to ask you a special favor."

Alfred perked up. Finally! He looked over to see if Texas was interested (usually they teamed up on challenging tasks) but Texas seemed a little too focused on the rolling credits.

What kinda favor did she need? Did she wanna go see a movie this weekend or something? She never liked going to those alone and the hero always got dragged into going with her. Yeah, she bought him lots of snacks to munch on (he loved nachos) but that was still valuable time he'd never get back! He needed to find a way of getting Canada to be her chick flick movie buddy. They both liked those mushy, melodramatic things.

"Yeah?"

Momilani took in a deep breath, "Baby, I need a good night's sleep tonight. I've got an early flight tomorrow morning. There's something about a telescope on a sacred mountain and protesters. I don't know. I need to get there and see what's happening."

"Kay."

"So, so, so. I...I was wondering...Can you...can Arthur just rest with you tonight? That way if you start having a bad dream, he'll just be right there. And he...won't need to run to your room..."

"..."

"...told ya I shoulda been the one to ask" Tex mumbled, eyes set unblinkingly on the television screen.

"I'm sorry pumpkin," Hawaii murmured "it's just that...you seem to sleep better when he's nearby and-and-"

Alfred scowled, "What are you saying?"

Texas tossed the remote on the coffee table, "You're loud Al. I came in late last Thursday and I heard ya. I didn't know before, cuz ya know me: I can sleep through a tornado. But I came in late. Ya sounded like a goddamn banshee. Like someone was takin' your head off or something. Seriously, wow-I didn't even know you could reach those sort of decibels-"

"Ahem."

Alfred miserably faced his father.

"You've been having a combination of nightmares and night terrors." he gave Texas a harsh look "which is perfectly understandable given recent events."

"I thought...I was doing better. I haven't been waking up."

"You are Sweet. "

"Yeah," Texas added "Hawaii and Arthur said you've gone from twice every night to once every other night. And Arthur can just sweet talk ya down now and ya usually don't even wake up."

Arthur sent the Texan another hard look and his brother took that as his cue to shut up.

Alfred flushed, "Huh?"

"Please honey," Hawaii beseeched "Please?"

Aware of all the eyes on him, he bit his lip and reluctantly nodded.

Sometimes being the hero meant compromising your dignity, which meant an hour later, he was following more "Arthur Orders."

Though he'd admit, sipping at a cup of warm milk and listening to Vivaldi playing from Arthur's laptop wasn't too bad by any stretch of the imagination.

He set the empty cup down and laid back-snuggling into his pillow which Hop was already occupying.

Hop was an old toy (a cloth bunny Arthur had sewn for him waaaay back in the 1600s). He'd lost it on a vacation in England during the 1700s and always assumed it'd been taken home by or been thrown out by a servant.

It'd been a shock to find it on his bed waiting for him. Especially, since it meant England had kept it all these years.

He reached for one of Hop's ears and twisted it lightly.

Arthur had totally redone his room while he was captured. One of the only remaining things was his gun case. He was glad that the old man had left it alone, sometimes he used it as a nightlight after a particularly creepy movie and he always felt safer knowing it was just a few steps away. If he did have a violent burglar, Al would be ready.

That bit of familiarity was really important because apart from the gun case and the old crucifix hanging over his bed, the rest of his room had drastically changed.

His old reliable oak bed (which had lasted ages) was gone and he now had a fancy four poster with a mattress that was too soft (it was really hard leaving it in the morning and starting his day).

There were new blinds and long drapes covering his window.

There were plaques with well wishes on his wall from his Dad and his uncles. Arthur's and Reilley's were nice. The other two he didn't know cuz they weren't in English, so he had to hope that they weren't sneaky ways of telling him off.

He'd ask Arthur but...blatantly revealing your ignorance to the snobby scholar never tended to go well. He could probably Google it on his phone at some point, if he desperately needed to know.

His books had been moved from the floor onto a bookcase. There was also a desk now which Arthur had yet to relinquish.

Which meant there were tons of photos of all England's current as well as former colonies and territories. Not a single one of him either. Arthur hadn't kept that stupid one Alfred took of them a few years ago. Oh well, he hadn't really expected him to. It was still weird Hop had evaded the garbage can.

Arthur's laptop was open (he'd been checking his emails before he'd left the room). The email screen had been minimized giving him a rather embarrassing view of an infant serving as Arthur's background. There'd been a frame of it too a while back, but Arthur had taken the picture home to the U.K. There was something familiar about the kid. Had he met him at a World Conference or something? He wondered idly which territory that was. He'd somehow been spared the U.K. eyebrows. Still, it was rough that he was in his birthday suit.

Poor soul.

Ya know, Alfred had met plenty of parents and guardians that adored embarrassing photos but he didn't have Arthur pegged as that type. He was usually so stuffy, you'd think a naked baby would scandalize him.

Kinda odd.

Arthur came in at that moment, dressed in his robe and pajamas. He peered into Alfred's empty cup and nodded approvingly. He then opened a jar air freshener and set it on the night stand.

Feeling Alfred's eyes on him, he explained "Lavender vanilla. Lavender helps promote sleep and vanilla elevates mood."

Oh. Aromatherapy or something...yeah, guess it couldn't hurt at this point.

Arthur moved away and took off his robe-setting it on the chair by the desk. He smiled at his computer's background and lowered the volume of the music. He then set his slippers beside Alfred's.

After turning the bedside lamp on and the overhead light off, he sidled into bed with Alfred.

Just as Arthur started to lay on the pillow, he rose back up, "What the dev-Oh!"

Ack! Alfred had forgotten about Hop!

He immediately snatched the toy out of Arthur's hands and held it tightly to his chest.

Arthur blinked and then his face relaxed into a smile, "Sorry Hop."

Alfred flushed with embarrassment, but couldn't bring himself to throw the toy aside as the Code of Macho-Manliness demanded.

Arthur rested a hand on his head-fingers stroking thoughtfully through the strands.

" _Arthur can just sweet talk ya down now and ya don't even wake up."_

"Am I super loud? Like he said?"

"Hmm?" Arthur toyed with his fringe "Oh don't trouble yourself over-"

"Do you think I should soundproof the room?"

"Wot?"

"So I can stop bothering you guys and-"

"I do hope that's a joke. An absurd, unfunny, badly timed jo-"

"It's why Alaska left early, isn't it? Cuz I can't shut up at ni-"

"Alfred," his name was stressed emphatically as an arm slid under him and pulled him close. "It's normal. Considering these past six months, I am certain your sleep cycle has been very...chaotic to say the least. We just need to establish a routine for you to relax into. It'll help, I promise."

"And you're so certain because?"

"Air raids."

Alfred stared; It wasn't often Arthur volunteered weaknesses...ya know except as reasons for why he hated the Fourth of July.

"...Oh...and this stuff" he gestured to the air freshener and and the computer "works for you?"

"Yes."

"...I'm not the only nation who's had to deal with this sort of stuff…?"

"Of course not" Arthur replied a bit sharply.

"...okay" Alfred breathed a bit easier knowing that.

"Of course not" Arthur repeated more gently "I've had similar night terrors and nightmares, Reilley too. It happens Sweet. Of course, you're not the only-of-of course not."

"...I'm not the only sleep thief in the family. It's genetic..."

England's lips turned up in a begrudging smile, "Indeed and I think we can all forgive you...if you agree to stop drinking so much soda and aggravating your condition."

"Or...it could be something else. Could be a reaction to all the tea leaves in my house right now. Maybe there's like spores in the air and my patriotism makes me allergic-"

"I know you had more than two. I was there when Texas stocked the fridge this morning."

Alfred sighed.

"Naughty thing. Don't lie to me."

"Fine. We'll try your way. I'll cut back. But just so we can see if your experiment has grounds. It might not-it might be something totally unrelated: like too much BBC, or tweed sweaters, or someth-"

"Goodnight Alfred" He turned the lamp off.

"G'night."

Alfred immediately fell asleep. When he woke up at 2 am, it was with a petrifying fear. He'd had the most awful dream of running through a village. He'd barely escaped a cabin falling on him and all the people were running through the dirt roads screaming.

He thought he saw Good Neighbor John (a man who sometimes offered him fish when he noticed him in the woods and drew him a drink of water from the well if he came late at night when no one was watching). He thought John was hiding beneath an overturned cart...but there was only half of him left! From the waist down he was gone-and the blood! O the blood!

He couldn't swallow the sob and just like that Arthur's fatherly mode was activated; he turned over to face Alfred, his voice thick with lethargy, "Shhh. Shh. Now, Sweetling."

Another sob wracked through him as an aftershock of terror flooded his system.

He was held tightly to the man's chest and crooned to: "Daddy's here, Daddy's got you. You're safe my darlingheart."

Dammit, he couldn't help clinging to him like his life depended on it.

" _Hush-a-by, don't you cry,_

 _go to sleep, my little baby._

 _And when you wake,_

 _you shall have a cake,_

 _and all the pretty little ponies._

 _Paint and Bay,_

 _Sorrel and Gray,_

 _all the pretty little ponies._

 _So hush-a-by, don't you cry,_

 _go to sleep, my little baby."_

Yup, his life was officially over.

The reason Arthur kept treating him like a baby, was because he kept acting like one.

* * *

Read & Review Please : D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Monopoly. Or William Shakespeare's MacBeth. Or Windex. Or Martha Stewart and her decorating empire. Or Disney. Top Ramen. Hunger Games Quote in Note.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Laundry. Protective Papa England. Fickle Alfred. Bewildered Texas. Lots of flashback phone conversations. Parents as people. Delves a bit into how parents will reference the entire timeline of a child's life to justify their actions/reactions...whereas their children are rooted in the present (wanting to be seen as they are NOW and not taking the past fully into account...even when the past is very important/relevant). Reality that whenever trauma is involved...there is no clean, perfect, "right" way to go about things and more people are affected than what a first glance will show; recovery is slow. Camels and the U.S. military...in America...investigate this and you'll have a good laugh. My personal recipe instructions for better tasting Top Ramen-don't put too much water in! XD

 **Note:** Thank you so much for your reviews! So glad to see most of the gang came back for Part 2! And yes to answer quite a few of your reviews, it's a messy situation and I love the passion you feel about it. Yes; strong personalities tend to clash even when they've got the best intentions-particularly when they're in love with being in control. Now, I offer up this chapter early because I have no idea how next week is going to pan out or if I'll even get to see my computer until after Black Friday. Between work and my family arriving for Thanksgiving, I realistically imagine it's going to be crazy. So I'll say it now: Happy Thanksgiving and Black Friday-"May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor"...Survive Life...and I hope you enjoy! : D

 **Chapter 2: Un-Flipping-Believable**

* * *

Arthur blinked at the lines of morning light filtering through the blinds.

Drats. He should've pulled the drapes closed last night.

He glanced at the clock.

Goodness! 9:12 am! They were going to sleep the whole day away!

He lifted the duvet and smiled softly at the small warm weight bundled against his side: Alfred's head was pillowed on Arthur's stomach. His little fists were loosely curled in Arthur's pajama shirt.

He stroked the blond head gently. Well, perhaps a few minutes more. After all, Alfred did have a nightmare. Just one though.

He was rather relieved by Alfred's progress, only one lullaby in and he'd been ready to talk. Last week, it took at least three to calm him down sufficiently.

He was recovering rapidly-an incredible feat considering the content of his dreams. He really did wish Alfred could be convinced to accept therapy from a trustworthy professional though.

Arthur was certain he was woefully under qualified to counsel him through this. He'd ordered some books on the subject to see what tips he could glean, but they'd yet to arrive. He'd tried to get Alfred to at least take a look at a few websites that offered suggestions for people coping with traumatic experiences.

But Alfred was adamant he just needed time to "shake it off."

Arthur had also noticed, to his chagrin, that quite a few of the symptoms of PTSD applied to himself as well. Arthur sighed; having your son forcibly abducted for half of a year did that to you.

He continued combing his fingers through the child's hair.

Alfred had yet to notice that Arthur had his own nightmares now and then. How could he not? He'd nearly lost Alfred and Mathieu several times, narrowly avoided being eaten by a ravenous pack of wendigo, witnessed a fellow nation mutate into a monster physically and psychologically…and then watched said nation's violent death at the hands of his elder brother Wales. Not to mention, watching Roanoke's murder and 1812…

Alfred mumbled nonsensically and pressed closer. Arthur gave him a light squeeze; for the moment, all he could really do to support him was to be present and ready to listen and assure him he'd be alright.

He sighed heavily; the nightmare had sounded graphic. Apparently John, whoever he was...poor soul, had been partially eaten if he'd understood Alfred's tearful explanation correctly. Arthur was certain it was a memory and a gruesome one.

He assured the child repeatedly that John's death was not his fault which had made the boy slowly relax in his hold.

It'd been relatively easy to settle him this time.

The first night in Alfred's military base following Halloween, he'd been nigh inconsolable; trembling from cold and fear-snared in the grips of a lasting terror that he couldn't quite wake up from.

Scotland had watched them with a cigarette hanging from his lips, as Arthur paced back and forth with Alfred in his arms swaying from foot to foot.

 _'Ack. Just let him scream it out. It'll pass.'_

He'd glared in response. The memories were fuzzy, but he remembered being left to 'scream it out.' With Mother dead, and Rhys away fighting, and who knew where Reilley had gone-there'd only been Alistair. Alistair who knew to feed him and not much more.

Armed with only the most rudimentary child-rearing skills (Scotland provided food, clothing, and shelter...and that was it) Scotland had been a terrible guardian.

No.

No…

Just because he couldn't erase what had happened…couldn't rewrite it like a fairytale in Disney's hands…

It didn't mean he had to stand back or look away.

It didn't mean he couldn't offer some respite-dull the edges of that torment.

He'd soothed countless children; royalty, aristocrats, merchants, and peasants.

Sometimes with piggyback rides, sometimes with dolls, or fanciful stories or games or songs. Some just needed a sympathetic ear, while others just needed to be held.

And this was no stranger's child in his arms, this one was his.

He was no amateur. He'd spent countless nights pacifying young colonies. From Canada who had nightmares about turning to dust, to Hong Kong who was convinced there were shuǐ guǐ surrounding Arthur's isle, to Australia who used to sleepwalk, to Barbados who suffered insomnia, to Sealand who had shipwreck dreams.

America...he knew all about America…America who often dreamt about monsters, who always needed a glass of warm milk, who needed one more blanket, one more lullaby, one more hug, one more goodnight kiss...and who still sometimes crept into England's bed for more comfort.

All of which was fine...thankfully, the bedwetting phase had been short lived...

 _"Look, we'll find somewhere secure where he won't hurt himself and ye can get some sleep. He'll be fine."_

 _"No."_

 _"Albi-"_

 _"I said no."_

As far as Arthur was concerned, Alistair and Hawaii were both lightweights. It was just a little sleep.

Perhaps that was why he'd been less than compassionate the previous night. He'd found Hawaii's desperate plea for uninterrupted sleep pathetic.

Gathered in the kitchen as she made her intent known to himself and Texas, he'd scoffed at the bags under her eyes and her smudged makeup.

 _"How melodramatic" he'd sneered._

 _"You don't know" she insisted "While you were gone, he had several terrors a night that each lasted for -"_

It was ridiculous. This wasn't even America at his most challenging. He'd lasted that: Autumn 1766, little Alfred had caught pneumonia. Poor thing had wailed for hours whenever his fever spiked.

No amount of pillows or blankets were comfortable enough. Soon he only settled when Arthur carried him...and so carry him he did. For hours a day, for the next few weeks until the illness (thankfully) ran its course and passed. His officers had been amazed-watching him fulfill his duties with a blanket-bundled child on his hip at all times (and a fussy one at that) and he didn't fall ill himself. For about two months, he'd had to do everything one handed.

He'd also gotten rather good at signing his name with his left hand.

He'd had to do it. He'd already tried leaving Alfred home with a nursemaid to tend to him, but the child worsened-refusing to eat and crying himself hoarse.

He'd come home to find Mathieu, who was still adjusting to his new household, with stuffed animal toys tied around his head to deaden the noise.

The Nurse was at her wits end wringing her bonnet fretfully between her hands as she apologized that she just couldn't soothe him. Tried everything. Everything.

And then there was Alfred, red-faced and squalling because everything hurt and couldn't Daddy save him from 'the hurting'? 'The hurting' became his term for the all-encompassing discomfort that was his new reality.

Begged in his raspy scratchy voice for Daddy to do something. To make him better.

And when Arthur tried to explain how illnesses worked and that they needed to be patient, Alfred would have none of it. Daddy was powerful, wasn't he? Make him better. Didn't he want his Alfred to be better?

Maybe that was the first warning sign, that Arthur had been built too high in the child's view. That he truly believed Arthur had power over everything and that with the firing of his musket, the signing of his pen, the wave of his wand-he could do anything.

And when Arthur apologized that it was not within his power...the child despaired (Arthur had failed him) and the soft weeping that ensued was far worse than the aggravated wailing earlier.

Now that was exhausting.

This...

He stared down at the little body as it readjusted itself, now hugging him more tightly.

He crooned the child's name and the face instinctively turned up to squint through dark blond lashes.

This...

He stroked the soft cheek and was rewarded with a sleepy smile.

This was bloody easy.

* * *

Alfred pounced on an orange leaf skidding across the pavement. It made a satisfying crunch under his light up shoes. He admired the chasing lights and jumped on another leaf to keep them going.

Alfred liked going for walks in the morning when the air was crisp and the sun threw a golden glint on everything.

After being physically confined and forced along forest trails barefoot for months, strolling the sidewalks of suburbia in his new sneakers was uplifting. He took in a deep breath of fresh air.

Arthur liked it too, if his lack of complaining was anything to go by. His old man was trailing behind by a few yards-eyeing a few houses that had already jumped the gun and set up Christmas displays...which in Alfred's opinion was kinda disrespectful to the Thanksgiving holiday. Geez, wait 'til the day after at least!

Arthur paused to smirk at a lawn filled with goofy inflatable snowmen and lawn flamingos and looked over to where Alfred was standing.

Alfred turned away and briskly trotted on because...yeah it looked dumb and he didn't want to discuss it. The fact was...ya know freedom...freedom to decorate your lawn however badly you chose to.

There was a soft "ha" behind him and he couldn't decide if it made him feel annoyed or happy that Arthur was in such a good mood,

Really, it all just made him nostalgic; there'd been so many mornings when he was little that Arthur would have them walk out to their meadow for a day of playing.

They'd pack a basket with food, a few books and toys, and have a picnic.

He walked faster.

And sometimes Arthur would let him wear one of the man's older naval coats-and he'd drag it through all sorts of shambles in pursuit of adventure.

He started power walking.

And if he tired himself out pursuing invisible dragons, rescuing damsels in distress, and seeking out the Holy Grail; Arthur would gather everything up (including himself!) and carry them all home.

He was close to breaking into a sprint, as if he could outrun the memories that kept lapping around his feet.

"Alfred," Arthur called from behind "Alfred, please wait for me!"

He looked over his shoulder to see Arthur waaaay back. He'd entered a light jog as he tried to catch up.

Dude! He hadn't meant to ditch him!

He instinctively charged back over to him and barely stopped himself from grabbing Arthur's hand. It didn't however stop Arthur from ruffling his hair.

It was like they were caught in a memory. He half expected to hear the clomp of Arthur's boots and the distant ring of a church bell.

"Nothing like a good walk...or run on a fine morning to get the blood going" Arthur asserted as he panted a bit.

Alfred anticipated the lecture about exercise and fresh air and was ready to nod along at all the appropriate pauses...which seemed to make Arthur happy. But Arthur was always happy to kick his butt outta bed.

He was actually surprised England let him sleep in as long as he had (he'd missed Hawaii leaving for her flight and everything! Though she did send him a 'Thank You' text with Xs and Os).

He remembered during World War I after he'd been added to England's regiment. England took it on himself to personally rouse him...4 am every morning on the dot while they were strategizing. If Alfred hadn't been already somewhat accustomed to early rising (he'd been a farmer after all), he'd have strangled that guy.

The smirk he'd give when he did it...God, it was so-so-so maddening!

Still, he'd gotten one good laugh when he'd happened to wake up early-he'd ran across camp and slipped into Arthur's tent just after he left.

Old man spent several hours looking for him, without thinking to check his own bedding! HA! The extra z's were worth the loud indignant rant he received.

After they got home, Alfred used the toaster to make them Eggo waffles and England made some tea. Alfred turned his nose up at England's offer to make him a "cuppa."

Tea was gross. He'd dumped that stuff for a reason.

Arthur offered to take them somewhere out for the day, but that would mean enduring the booster seat and people telling him how "cute" he was.

Plus, there was actually a bunch of home-stuff to tackle. Tex had never been that great at housekeeping so he kinda expected mountains of laundry (kinda hoped for it too, otherwise it'd mean Tex had gone frontier on him and was wearing the same outfit for several days at a time...and Alfred would have to toss the clothes because there'd be no way to get the sweat stains out. And then there'd be a mini-fight, because Alfred tossed a "beloved" shirt.)

Arthur surprised him by offering his services.

Alfred was loathe to admit it, but laundry went way faster with Arthur to help him. A good thing too, because Tex had accumulated quite a lot and apparently was hoarding towels.

And Arthur didn't ignore the tag directions the way Tex and Tony did when they could be bothered to enter the laundry room. Which was why he never wanted their "help" when it came to his own shirts. You weren't doing him a favor if you just threw his shirt in with yours without reading its tag.

Now they had a few baskets of warm, dry laundry to fold. He waited for Arthur to comment on his T.V. choice: _Powerpuff Girls_ on Boomerang especially since he'd sang along with the opening song without even thinking about it...but Arthur was watching him fold and comparing their twin piles of towels.

All folded the exact same way.

He stiffened and tried to think up a denial. No, he didn't spend hours of his childhood practicing-because he'd been impressed that Arthur knew both the "men's" and "women's" tasks involved in running a household and how he'd endeavored to be the same as a result.

Arthur smiled a bit too fondly at him, and Alfred blurted "Lots of people fold their towels this way."

"Of course Poppet," Arthur said a bit too sweetly "I do."

Mopping and sweeping got done in half the time, since Arthur took the mop.

It stood to reason; Arthur had swabbed a lot of decks.

And sweeping had often been Alfred's task as a child, when they were between servants. Colonial life was harsh and being immortal...they'd gone through quite a few employees.

He'd also never quite forgotten Arthur's warning: _When you delegate a task to someone, it shouldn't be that ignorance was your prompt. For if that was so, you admit to yourself and this person a weakness and they now hold power over you._

They also tag teamed windows. Arthur deliberately took the higher windowpanes, leaving Alfred with the windowsill level ones. Alfred appreciated the gesture; Arthur had done it without hesitation or teasing-Alfred hadn't really wanted to break out the stepladder before 12 or give in and ask him to do it.

"Goodness, I bet the house hasn't been this clean since Lithuania was here" Arthur chuckled as they worked.

"It's not like I want my house to be dirty" Alfred grumbled "I'm usually just so busy and tired and it's hard constantly picking up after Tex and Tony and Hawaii...only Alaska does his share when he's here…"

Alfred squeezed the Windex bottle's trigger and watched the liquid spray,"Ya just...kinda give up after a while...especially when Lithuania had to go back. You focus on the spots where guests will hang out the most. The rest...the rest ya just have to set free."

They unanimously agreed that dusting could wait until tomorrow. Alfred was actually surprised; most of the house was in fair shape-a shock considering all the people who'd been staying over during his absence. He could count on Tex to keep the outside clean and well cared for and he could do the dishes but...

He glanced over to where Arthur was gazing intently at a calendar. Had he been playing housekeeper all this time? He'd definitely played Martha Stewart in his room. Which was weird and he was still getting over that.

It was just so presumptuous; to barge into his quarters and change it. Arthur usually respected his privacy.

When Alfred tried to vent about it to Texas, his brother shrugged _"You change the living room all the time in both our houses. Remember that feng shui kick you had a while back?"_

But that was the living room! Not a bedroom! Bedrooms were off limits!

 _Texas had shrugged again, scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground, glanced around to check for eavesdroppers and murmured, "Al...his train" he tapped his skull pointedly "almost derailed a couple times."_

Reilley had confirmed that in a phone call the other day when the topic of Hop cropped up. Alfred couldn't help but mention it-it was just so surprising the toy was still around. He'd always kinda envisioned Arthur having a bonfire after Alfred's independence and burning everything that had belonged to him.

 _"Aye...Scot told me he'd gotten real attached to that doll o' yours. I wasn't payin' that much atten-"_

 _"... **toy**...Hop is a stuffed animal **toy**..."_

 _"-really creeped him out._ _To quote the plaid git, he said Arty was two months from a straight jacket. He said the minute he called it Alfred, he was gonna haul his arse to the asylum himself."_

They had to be exaggerating. There was a certain amount of control Arthur always had even when he was squabbling with France! He couldn't picture him just losing it.

Though...

He had seemed pretty strained when they met up after Alfred had escaped that cabin...and when they were falling off that cliff-Alfred had kinda written that off as a side effect of 'fear-of-impending-death.'

Ya know...high stress situation...

Alfred continued on the puzzle Arthur had given him and Arthur turned the T.V. to a classical music channel.

He stared at him-analyzing him; could he have really been that heartsick just 'cuz his ex-colony had gone missing? Before he'd even known about the wendigo and the hopeful usurper waiting in the wings?

Because Alfred totally got the last two: having monsters flooding the streets eating people was terrifying-especially if it could have spread like a disease over borders. Alfred shivered; they'd narrowly avoided the Zombie Apocalypse...he hoped (His military had informed him that they were still rooting out a few "turned" humans here and there).

And then there was the threat of a malevolent personification who (one mealtime later) could've gained control of a powerful country. If he had acquired all of Al's memories and skills like he hinted he would... the amount of weapons-knowledge he would've gained...dude, a nuclear holocaust could've easily happened on that guy's shift.

Those were things worthy of being freaked out over.

Arthur's eyebrows twitched in response to Alfred's intense stare.

"It's...well...it's relaxing" Arthur insisted. "You do like Vivaldi, right?"

Alfred abruptly nodded.

Yes, yes, it was and he did. Alfred didn't usually get to listen to classical all that often. The rest of his household weren't big fans, and so it was easier to just change it to Jazz or Rock or Country and keep everyone happy. He didn't mind too terribly, he'd always had an eclectic taste for well...everything.

But it was a nice change...

Arthur brought out more soft throw blankets from the linen closet for him to lay on while he worked. Like he'd known that Alfred's elbows were getting kinda sore. It was also nice because usually being the hero meant taking the hardest pillow, or the most ragged blanket, or the burnt to hell pizza slice, or the seat under the A/C vent.

Tongue between his teeth, he set another piece into place.

It was a forest of some kind which meant tons of the pieces were green. But some were white and grey. So...a frosty forest in winter perhaps?

"Goodness. Clever boy, you're making swift work of that," Arthur smiled as he toweled a mug dry. (He'd been particularly incensed when the dishwasher wasn't able to remove the tea leave gunk from the ceramic mugs) and now insisted on hand washing them after each use rather than playing the 2 out of 5 odds that the dishwasher would fully clean them.

He looked pretty goofy with one of Hawaii's hibiscus patterned aprons tied around his waist.

Alfred's own smile was probably just as goofy. Because it was rare to surprise England in a good way.

"If I'd known what a master puzzle solver I had on my hands, I'd have looked for one of those complex, 3-D kits."

With green eyes shining at him, Alfred wondered if this was what life would've been like if they'd been humans.

But he couldn't get too attached with that daydream because he immediately thought of how that would mean watching Arthur grow older and older until he died and-

"Alfred," Arthur set the glass down on the counter before approaching and crouching down "what's wrong, pet?"

"...Davie."

* * *

Texas was worried.

Life wasn't fair. He knew that. He knew it as well as the Shawnee Trail.

He knew they couldn't keep babying Alfred; all the same, they couldn't act like nothing happened either.

Worse, none of his usual methods of getting Al out of a pissy mood were now viable:

Not like he could take Al drinking or have them go for a ride on their motorcycles or fly over to Vegas for BlackJack.

Or take him to an R-rated scary movie without a sea of disapproving looks. (He was just gonna have to wait for those to come to video.)

And he felt for him, he really did. Being...reduced? Er, downsized? would be frustrating as hell...and being treated like a kid by everyone would undoubtedly be grating...regardless if that was his real age inside.

This wasn't like the slew of other traumatic challenges they'd faced down before; where them standing together would be enough to dispel doubters.

Alfred had physically changed and there was no way to gloss over that. Texas knew damn well what his little brother was capable of, but in this new age where children were trussed up in bubble wrap...

What could he do?

Texas couldn't reach inside other folks' heads and change how they were going to perceive him.

And it made his insides twist every time he heard a pet name directed at Al. (Tex only did it to tease him. Hell, he knew if he stopped teasing him in his usual way-his brother would freak. Tex wasn't allowed to treat him delicately-that would do way more damage to their relationship than he dared to even think about. They were brothers, partners-in-crime, teammates-if he stepped out of that role...tried to step up into a role model or guardian spot...hell no...just...no.)

Tex knew England's smothering behavior was wearing Alfred down (hell, witnessing it was wearing Tex down) but what could he do about it?

He'd been on the phone a lot with Scotland in the weeks since Al's rescue.

" _It's just Albion's way of saying he's sorry."_

" _Fer? What exactly?"_

" _Everythin' I 'magine. You know...their wars...and them fallin' out, and him gettin' taken. And him not findin' him as a wee bairn...and everythin' else. Jus' step back laddie. Try ta stay outta it. Gotta let these things run their course. America will snap back hard enough, and England will remember his place."_

That was kinda rough for England though.

Yeah Alfred had accused him of being on "Team England" a few times now. Insulting, because he wasn't...he was firmly Team U.S.A., but...after everything he'd witnessed…

Sure England was a jerk…

And had kinda assaulted him twice (Tex hadn't told Alfred about the second time)...

But from what Al had told him, he'd given the ol' Brit the opportunity to be rescued and set back on the cliffside with the rest of them...

Arthur had refused-choosing to fall with Al instead.

And he'd managed to do his own hocus pocus to save them from drowning! THEN he swam them both (with Al on his back, in the middle of a frickin' storm!) ashore! AND kept his fat mouth shut at McDonald's...

If that didn't earn a gold star in Tex's book, nothin' would.

Which was why Tex was feeling conflicted; he'd gone out to the mailbox (he was expecting his NASCAR subscription) and made an...unfortunate discovery.

Lately, Alfred had insisted on being the one to check and now Tex knew why. It wasn't some act of defiant independence; marching down the road a ways (by himself!) to check their mailbox.

Heck, he probably knew by now that England watched from the window to make sure he got to and back from it safely.

When confronted on his helicopter parenting behavior the Brit would rattle off statistics from the US as well as the UK on child abductions and kept his eyes glued to the window pane.

The intense look on his face almost made Tex wish something would happen because (while Alfred was more than capable of defending himself) it would just be so fun to explain to police that the oh-so-prim-and-proper Arthur curbstomped a jogger for having the impudence to ask his son for the time.

It was strange interacting with someone who questioned Al's every decision and seemed to think of him as a vulnerable impressionable person.

As if 200 years of autonomy was a drop in the bucket…

Except...for Arthur it probably was.

Considering some of the Wikipedia skimming he'd done, Arthur was pretty damn old. Though _his_ Papi was frickin' ancient too...which explained some of the babying Tex was suffering as well.

Anyways, you'd think the results would speak for themselves; yeah, Al was young, but it sure didn't stop him from becoming a Superpower.

Still, much as Tex hated to admit it…

He glanced down at the letter in his hand.

He couldn't help but question some of Al's recent choices.

It wasn't to say that Tex didn't occasionally have a bad one himself...the camels didn't work out for the U.S. or the Confederate Army, but this...

They really needed to talk about this.

He eyed the return address, it was from the _Women's Correctional Center_.

If Arthur saw it, he was gonna freak.

Texas was actually kind of surprised. Nobody thought to file a restraining order to prevent this?

And the biggest question? Was this harassment? Or was Stockholm's Syndrome at work?

"Hey Al? Aaaaaal? Ally-Alibaba, where are you? I got a quest-"

He found both blonds in the kitchen.

Apparently, Alfred had insisted on cooking Top Ramen himself, and was perched on the top of a small stepladder.

Arthur stood right beside him and the hawkish look in his eyes bespoke that if Alfred wobbled at all or if the pot hissed and spat, Alfred would be whisked out of the line of fire.

"People add too much water and they ruin the flavor" Alfred tisked as he dropped the block of noodles into the bubbling pot.

"Oho?"

"Ya want enough water that it's still soup and not a sauce, but not too much or it won't be tasty."

While stirring, Alfred caught sight of Texas.

"Hey sleepyhead!" he jumped down and ran full tilt at him; Texas barely avoided the hot spoon as Alfred tried to glomp him as best he could considering his small size.

Arthur shook his head bemusedly and reached for another spoon to give the pot a stir.

"No! Don't touch it, or it'll be cursed!"

Geez Al, so dramatic.

"A-Alfred, that's a rude thing to-"

"You're cursed" the child told Arthur solemnly.

Arthur's eyes slitted in deep irritation.

"Baby brother," Tex murmured "that's not very nice."

"No it's not" Alfred said flippantly, and suddenly he had a dreamy far away expression on his face. "Hearth and pot and...stir...and bubble...and...burn..."

England and Texas shared a glance; it was a "Roanoke moment." Roanoke moments tended to be abrupt stretches where knowledge of the occult would just crop up and Al would say something disjointed and a bit eerie.

Alfred abruptly snapped out of it, climbed his stepladder, and began stirring his pot vigorously as he noticed the amount of foam around his noodles.

Texas glanced at England who was frowning deeply.

"...Are you cursed?"

"I...don't know...You...you had something to ask?"

"Oh uh, um, er _magazine subscription_. Gonna ask Al about whether we wanna... _cancel_ it or not."

England looked at Alfred expectantly, "Al-"

"Nah," Tex interrupted "He's...focused right now."

Alfred was dangling a long noodle into his mouth to taste test it.

Texas hastily folded the letter and shoved it into his pocket. It could wait until he and Al were alone.

In the meantime, Tex made himself a sandwich and settled down at his spot at the table.

Arthur lightly dressed a salad from his place at the head of the table (that was something Tex kept having to get used to...Didn't Arthur know that was Al's official spot? This was his house. Yeah, before no one cared because Al was missing. Al was back now. Was he doing it on purpose?)

Alfred came and sat at Arthur's right with a bowl so brimming with noodles and broth, that Tex was privately impressed it hadn't sloshed onto the floor on the way over.

After a quick prayer with Al, Tex took a hearty bite of roast beef and watched father and son interact.

Arthur was currently critiquing Alfred's posture and manners and commenting that it seemed to be an American trait. His people could always pick out American tourists by their grating lack of decorum at the table.

Texas felt his eyebrow twitch.

Alfred then took a moment (or five) to deliver a low blow rant about English teeth.

Which led to a huffy silence as Alfred slurped and England chewed.

England kept watching how Al ate though, and would make minute shakes of his head-every time his son "broke" a rule.

Finally, the Briton could take it no longer, "Alfred-"

"What?"

"Don't 'wot' me!"

"...How might I assist thee? Gov'nuh?"

"..."

Alfred snickered and tried to catch Tex's eye. Oh no, he was stayin' outta that.

"..."

Alfred stared.

"..."

Alfred fiddled with his spoon.

"..."

"Sheesh, okay I'm sorry. Not allowed to do a Cockney accent, I'll add it to my impressive list of stuff I'm not s'posed to do around you."

"..."

"Daaaad?"

"Sip from the side of your spoon."

"Huh?"

"From the side of your spoon."

"This is my domain. I can slurp here."

"The _**side**_ of your spoon."

Alfred glowered, but reluctantly did as advised.

"See? Much quieter."

"...guess so."

"Now again."

Yeah, Tex supposed it was quieter...for the moment...it looked like a storm was brewing on Alfred's face...and it was gonna be loud.

"Very good. Practice will make it a natural movement. Now elbows off the table and straighten yourself. Good. Shoulder backs. Head up. Now hold your spoon like-"

Alfred set his spoon down and hopped off his chair and stalked away.

"Alfred what _**are**_ you-"

"If you don't like how I eat, you don't hafta to eat with me. Tex, can you put that in some tupperware? I can eat later with the commonfolk, I don't wanna risk offending a _gentleman_. I'm gonna check the mail now."

He tromped off down the hall and the front door opened and closed.

Tex eyed the bowl of half-eaten noodles, Arthur's crestfallen face, and sighed heavily.

Yeah, Al's manners left something to be desired (Tex's were fairly better just because he attended more dinner parties with Southern gentry but Al...Al had often been out in the wilderness manning military posts, traveling westward, polishing his military and survival skills. Heck, even now he was usually on the performing side of military and political banquets; acting as a security guard, or as a speaker, or as an event coordinator. If he got to eat during the event itself, it was usually off a paper plate in a dimly lit backstage hallway.)

Yeah Alfred could probably benefit from some rudimentary etiquette lessons, but Arthur came on **_way_** too strong.

Arthur stoically finished his salad (and resisted the urge to run to the front window...though his eyes kept flickering over to the hall).

Tex would hand it to him, after watching his hands and the silverware...probably the best damn manners he'd seen in some time. A silverware ballet.

Too bad the lack of enjoyment in his eyes made it look like he was eating cardboard.

When Tex swallowed his last bite, he packed up the soup and set it in the fridge.

Arthur whisked away the remaining dining ware, washed them off, and set them in the dishwasher.

They both tensed for a moment as the front door slammed shut, Alfred sped past into the family room, and the T.V. was turned on.

Arthur then washed his hands, got out a cutting board and a plate, and began chopping orange slices.

He pulled out some deli meat from the fridge, cut some wedges of cheese, and arranged a few crackers onto the plate as well.

After grabbing a cold juicebox, he headed into the family room with his peace offering.

God. When Arthur decided to smother...he really smothered…not one of those things required cutlery.

Tex eavesdropped from the hall.

"Here, I made-"

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

Alfred's stomach growled-refuting the statement.

"Alf-"

"Not. Hungry."

Wellp, looked like Alfred was putting his foot down like Alistair warned he would.

Arthur had gotten too controlling and Alfred was beating him back.

Might've been necessary but it sure was ugly to witness.

Alfred was a hero and a food-lover (not quite a foodie because there was very little he'd turn down); _loved_ food, hated wasting it, and could suffer through bland pasta salads or overcooked spaghetti if it meant supporting troops or girl scouts or whatever fundraiser happened to be going. One of the biggest insults he could give was turning his nose up at a plate.

Tex sneaked a peek and saw his brother sitting on the floor and staring coldly at the snacks.

"I'm sorry" Arthur murmured.

Alfred looked up, and then down, and then away.

Arthur touched his shoulder gently, and Alfred turned entirely away to face the other direction.

Arthur sighed and sat down-placing the plate on the floor between them.

Tex struggled internally. Should he enter the room? Should he stay out of it?

Arthur ran a hand through the child's hair.

 _Arthur,_ he thought desperately, _back up! He doesn't want to deal with you right now!_

"I'm sorry" he repeated "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Embarrass? HA! Al wouldn't get embarrassed over something so trivial! He was angry because England was barking orders, not because-

"..yes, you did…" Alfred mumbled.

"I just want you to be ready..."

"Wha?"

"Blast it all." Arthur stood up and paced "I had it planned out...you'd finish that and I'd-"

Curiosity got Alfred to turn back around and stared at the puzzle pieces Arthur was pointing to.

"...it, well, it forms a significant winter scene…"

"Yeah, a snowy forest right?"

"Yes, erm...it is...one of my forests...I'd like you to take an extended holiday in England...with me."

"..."

"We...well you see, we usually have our annual Winter Ball and I just want you to be ready. It's...a rather formal affair, Sweet."

Alfred plucked at the edges of his long sleeved shirt, "Oh."

Arthur stared anxiously.

Alfred toyed with a small wedge of cheese, "So...so an extended vacation...that's like a week, right?"

"No dear, it would be for most of December and January...if you'd like."

"That's a long time...I...dunno" He nibbled the cheese carefully.

"I see."

Tex tried not to feel bad for the Briton. If this was how controlling he got in their house, there was no telling how much command he expected in his own.

"I-I just...I dunno, sounds expensive. And I've got work; I'm backlogged since June and I-I just-"

Arthur sat down on the recliner, which conveniently brought him down closer to eye level,"You'd be staying with me, so there'd be no food and boarding cost and I'm certain we could coordinate something with your Embassy."

"...I don't have lots of winter clothes or fancy clothes in this size."

"I think we could make a few purchases here and there."

"Americat-"

"Can come if you'd like him to."

Wow. Arthur was really willing to bend over backwards for this. Americat was a terrible travelling buddy. He'd yowl his head off while being driven anywhere, Tex could only imagine his discontent after riding in a plane for hours.

"Is...the Ball fun?"

"If you still enjoy dancing, I should think it very enjoyable."

Alfred nodded.

"What would we do the other days?" he asked as he picked up a roll of turkey meat. He carefully chewed with his mouth shut.

"Well, as you're aware, you have magic. I would like to instruct you how to use it, especially since Winter Solstice is approaching."

"Would I have to make a scary devil-summoning pentagram circle?"

Arthur's eyebrows twitched, "No."

"Would I have to handle a dog's tongue?"

"No."

"What about newt eyes?"

"No."

"Bat wool?"

"No. And before you ask. No. No frog toes, no fenny snakes. I promise."

"...Do I get a uniform?"

Arthur smiled bemusedly, "Do you want one?"

Alfred's cheeks turned pink and then he ate an orange slice and then another. He shuffled closer and leaned back-resting himself against Arthur's legs, as he emptied the plate.

"Son?"

Alfred kicked his heels against the floor, "Hmm?"

"Will you come...with me?"

Texas couldn't help but flinch a bit at the silent "home" that England doesn't dare include. But it was there...fragile and hanging precariously in the air...

"If Tex, and Hawaii, and Alaska don't have anything already planned and the Prez and Congress are cool with it, then sure. It's been awhile since I've travelled somewhere for Christmas that didn't involve a military operation or a trade negotiation...thanks for offering."

It wasn't the enthusiastic "YES," England had hoped for and it showed in the way his lips thinned while he nodded.

Like Al's government would say "no" after everything he'd been through and the hot HR mess regarding his insane amount of work hours. Besides, there was no way the rest of their family would stand in Al's way if an English Christmas was what he wanted.

Though, if Al went with England, Tex would lose his Get Out Of Jail Free Card and would have to go endure a Spanish Christmas. Papi had already informed his state government that Tex was visiting months ago and his governor had cleared his schedule. He'd banked on using a "but Al would be lonely without me" excuse.

Still, it'd be kinda weird for Team U.S.A to be scattered in December; they'd miss Alaska's maple doughnuts, Hawaii's ukulele while caroling, and Tex and Al's Local Diner quest for pie (that was a Christmas Eve tradition between him and his baby brother since the 1830s). Maybe they could all coordinate something and their older relatives could crash their European Christmases.

Al set the plate onto the coffee table with a soft clatter and settled himself down by the puzzle.

When he glanced up and realized Arthur was still watching him, he beckoned him over, "Come on, help me. I wanna finish this. Then I can mod podge it and we can find a frame!"

Un-flipping-believable.

 _Dammit Al, these hot and cold reactions you keep giving are confusing the hell out of us all. No wonder England doesn't know what to do with you, I certainly don't._

Lord Almighty, life was getting complicated.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Hetalia_. Or _Jeopardy_. Or Stephen King's _The Shining._ Disney's _Pinocchio._

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Child injury. Magical paramedic blankets-movies/media always show them being handed out! Cuz they just make everything better. (Discusses the ugly, stressful side of hosting an event and the days of preparation that are necessary. (*Cough*Reminder for guests [because the _Art Of Being A Guest_ needs reviving]: Remember to thank your hosts for all their hard work because tons of time and manpower have gone into that event and it's usually good form to bring a small gift there...you also can't go wrong with writing a 'Thank You' note and mailing it several days after.*Cough* Because good manners make good company and surely you'll want to be invited back.^^)) Telling stupid fibs to a smart parent. When overprotective parents have a valid point. Family draaama. Some tips for when you have a bruise. Phone conferences are boring.

 **AN:** HAPPY THANKSGIVING! And thank you for the well wishes! And the Reviews! Wow, we've already broke 80! : DDD Here's a short chap to tide you over! (I managed to sneak off to my computer a few times this week XD) I hope you have a great time with family, friends, and good food!

 **Chapter 3: It's Like That Game 'Hot Potato'**

* * *

Alfred hummed happily as he set down another puzzle piece. Dude! He was three quarters of the way done! With a liter of Mountain Dew, he could totally power through this tonight!

Arthur had really helped him before he'd started complaining that his joints were acting up.

He glanced over at the recliner; Arthur had turned the T.V. to _Jeopardy_ and promptly fell asleep.

Old people and _Jeopardy_ , he just didn't get it.

Yeah, they wanted to show off their smarts by barking answers at the screen but the monotone voices of the contestants always put them to sleep...which made them seem...kinda lame.

Still...

He pulled a soft blanket from his nest on the floor and shuffled over to Arthur.

This guy….

He hesitated a minute (making sure no one was watching) and then gently began tucking him in.

Had put up with a lot for him...

Just as he was surveying his handiwork, he realized one green eye was watching him.

EEP! He wasn't s'posed to wake up!

Flustered he began talking about Red Cross and how heroes were s'posed to defend others from hypothermia and whenever firetrucks and ambulances arrive they hand out blankets-so obviously blankets are super helpful and important and-

Arthur reached over and pulled him onto the recliner-adjusting the blanket to cover them both.

It was weird being small enough for someone to lift him so easily-he'd grown accustomed to people groaning in strain whenever they had to lift his heavy body. The same feeling of surprise came whenever he realized he didn't have to duck, or turn edgewise to fit in tight spaces.

He couldn't decide how he felt about being held. On one hand it was kinda demeaning and awkward, on the other...it was…warm and secure and heartbeats were strangely soothing to listen to.

Arthur's arms draped loosely around him.

Ian, a Political Science professor, had bet everything on the Final Jeopardy Question...would it work out for him?

Arthur snored lightly in his ear.

He burrowed against Arthur's chest and the man's embrace tightened.

The warm pleasant haze of nodding off descended.

"Psst. Al?"

He blinked. The credits of the game show were rolling.

"Pssssssssssssssssssssst. Al?"

"Huh?"

He glanced around to locate that drawl.

He saw Texas peeking around the corner.

Tex eyed the sleeping Arthur and then Alfred, "Finally. C'mere. Al, come on!"

Alfred frowned; that would involve leaving his nice cozy spot. He rested his head back on Arthur's shoulder and yawned.

Whatever it was, it could wait.

Texas frowned back and then waved a letter.

He felt an electric jolt of anxiety race up and down his spine, and he shuddered.

"Shhh...It's alright" Arthur consoled instinctively and nuzzled him like a teddy bear. "You're safe."

He felt his face heat up.

Texas started to pull out his phone to take a picture.

Alfred immediately untangled himself from Arthur's embrace and climbed down.

Arthur's hand rested on his shoulder.

"W-wha-what's-where?" Arthur blearily asked. "Where are you-"

"I gotta go pee" Alfred lied resolutely.

Arthur blinked drowsily and wrinkled his nose, "Well...mind the porch steps-"

"Okay, I will."

"Tha's a good boy and take the lantern..."

"Yes sir," Alfred tried to keep the amusement out of his voice-look who was all caught up in memories now! He was thinking Alfred was heading to an outhouse.

"...Wouldn't want you to fall."

Best to play along, or he'd wake up more.

"Yes, Father. Only a moment."

"...take a coat..."

"Yes, Father."

He edged away as quietly as he could.

Once he was confident Arthur was back asleep, he dashed over to his brother and they raced to Tex's room.

It was the safest place-England tried to avoid it like the plague.

Once the door was shut and locked. Texas turned his radio on (cranking the volume) and they went to the far corner. Texas sat down on a rolling leather computer chair. Alfred handed the potted cactus over to Tex, before he hopped onto the filing cabinet.

Texas sighed and set his cactus at the far end of a nearby dresser.

"Al." He murmured "You...you're corresponding with-with her?!"

"S'free country" Alfred grumbled.

"Yeah...but Al, why?"

"I don't agree with what she did, but it's not like I would've agreed to meet with her had she sent me an inquiry listing "magic" as the topic she wanted to discuss. Besides, from what she told me-"

"Friggin' Stockholm's" Texas sighed.

"No," Alfred frowned "I-I'm just...I'm remembering more stuff she did for me. There was lotsa times where I didn't have anyone to turn to besides her and...writing her off just because of a couple..."

Texas raised an eyebrow.

"Snags…"

"Uh huh."

"Seems...sorta...I just need to talk to her and sort stuff out."

"Does Arthur know?"

"...No. I...I didn't think he'd...understand. I'm trying to do things different. Like I did with you, I-"

Texas nodded, "Go on."

Alfred took that as reassurance, and inhaled deeply-trying to ease his nerves, "You..you didn't accept our war as...as the end of our brotherhood. You wrote me...all through it. I...I'm sorry I didn't write you back."

"You were in a fucking coma. I think I can let it slide."

"But you wrote me! And...it didn't even have all that much to do with the war. You weren't pleading with me to end it, or trying to manipulate me, or-or insulting me. You...you just…missed having cherry pie and teaching me poker and you wanted to go riding 'cross the plains...with me..."

"Geez Al. It wasn't anything fancy."

"You didn't let it _get in the way_. Us being personifications...you didn't let it...even after...when everyone kept...I guess what I'm trying to say is: Thank You."

"Tch. Like that's even necessary."

"I mean...I messed up with Arthur. I messed up with Mathieu. I wanted it to be different for us."

"Third time's the charm for me too little brother; Spain, Mexico, and then you. I wanted the same thing. But that's why it worked for us, Al. Are you sure you and her are on the same page?"

Alfred looked up, startled.

Texas was watching him closely, "Has she apologized for what she did to you?"

"S-she couldn't have known I'd end up like this...she said it was just as big a shock to her as-"

"...Al. She kidnapped you, held you against your will, and attacked the rest of us."

"She had reasons!"

"Is she sorry?"

"She's...trying to let me see her side. And I wanna see her side before I make a judgment. You can understand that right?"

"I understand, that you're tryin' real hard to be fair. But I don't want you to downplay what happened to you. They hurt you Al…"

Alfred kicked his feet against the cabinet.

"Matt told me you were in rotten shape when they found you."

Alfred kept his gaze on the floor.

"Has she apologized for that?"

Alfred slid off the cabinet.

Texas rolled his chair back to give him space.

Alfred took a hesitant step forward and walked over to the bed-sitting on the edge of it.

"C-c-can y-you" he patted the spot next to him.

Texas plonked down beside him, making the bed bounce violently and Alfred laughed in spite of himself.

They both took that cue to heave themselves backward making the bed bounce some more.

Ah, the art of flopping onto bed. a They'd perfected it during the Wild West. Good beds had been few and far between and whenever they had managed to get one while travelling-it was cause for celebration.

For several minutes they just laid there staring at the ceiling.

"You have a couple of cobwebs in that far right corner."

"You are right. I do."

Alfred took a deep breath, "If I could just understand _why_ , I think I could let it all go easier."

"Hmm."

"Why? Do you wanna read them? Cuz you can read them if you don't trust my judgment!" He insisted a bit more defensively than he intended.

"Only if you want me to" was the neutral response. Damn, his brother was good.

"I guess...there might be a couple parts...wouldn't hurt to have a second opinion on. I'm not sure I'm reading her as she meant…"

"Here" Texas handed the newest letter over.

Alfred flipped the envelope over several times incredulously, "You...you didn't read it?"

"Look Al, I got standards. Just cuz I steal your coupons, doesn't mean I read your confidential mail" Tex huffed.

Alfred released a soft "Heh." He glanced up at the ceiling, "I think I've just gotten so used to England and Canada being quietly nosy...and doing stuff behind my back..."

"Yup."

"It's...it's not okay though. I mean...I'm a...I'm a person and...I have the right to make my own decisions and they need to...respect that...even if they don't agree."

"You've gotta draw your line in the sand."

"...thanks Tex. I...I was really scared everyone would freak, if they knew I'd been writing her."

Texas squirmed a little.

"Tex?"

"Uhhhhh. You'll...still wanna have a good sound argument before you bring it up to the rest of them...I'd use index cards...Powerpoint couldn't hurt either. You know what...maybe over the phone and when there's an ocean between you."

"Oh."

"...yeah."

"Okay, I'll plan that. News Bulletin though! I've also got an evaluation coming up to test all my skills-legislative and combative."

It was a formality, his government was gonna try and pull some kind of demotion on him-he could sense it! He was still hoping he could change their minds, if he could prove his competency even in this form.

He turned on his side to see Tex already viewing him intently.

"Can you help me prepare? I need to go to the shooting range, but I'll need a " ** _guardian_** " to sign me in. I'll also need adults to spar with so I can reorient myself to fighting-ya know despite the height and reach difference."

"Ya mean, folks that won't mind beatin' on your sorry little butt? You know I'm in. That's what brothers are for."

"Ohhh, ha haaa. Funny" Alfred frowned "Look, are ya on my side?"

Texas grasped his hand (not marveling at its size, as Arthur kept doing) and looked him in the eye, "I'm always on your side."

* * *

Over the next few days, Arthur noticed Alfred and Texas had been rather chummy-often leaving for extended amounts of time each day.

Arthur knew the boy needed a support network-needed more people to depend on then just his father...

But the empty house and his empty arms were weighing on the Briton. He probably could've gone with them, if he'd been willing to subject himself to a day of silence.

The truth of the matter was Arthur didn't trust himself to join them on their ventures, the things they did for "fun" was sure to bother him even more if he got to witness them firsthand. It took a lot to bite his tongue and not voice his displeasure at their now daily visits to the gun range.

But he didn't dare comment because Alfred came back happier each time; bubbly and confident and smiling.

It was as he was finishing a phone conference in the afternoon, that he heard the front door slam-signalling they'd come back from paintballing. Really, this obsession with guns was bothering Arthur.

Phone pressed against his ear, he paced the hallway-trying to listen to his representative and muse over what take-away meal they should have tonight. They'd eaten at home enough (they'd surprised Arthur by packing lunches each morning) for Arthur to decide that the boys deserved a fun dinner, his treat.

He'd have offered a restaurant but they'd tried that once a while back and Alfred had reacted numbly when a waitress presented him with crayons and a children's menu.

He frowned as he saw Texas running up the stairs. The lad gave him a brief wave as he sped by.

He had to swallow his "don't run: it's dangerous" to answer a question from one of his representatives in the House of Commons.

Still, he frowned at the paint splattered camouflage jacket racing down the hall. Arthur had been irritated that they'd also found one of those jackets in Alfred's size. He thought it was rather telling about how Americans indoctrinated their youth into gun culture.

Still, the nagging voice in the back of his head took that moment to remind him that said culture had saved a bunch of trick-or-treaters during the wendigo's attacks.

Bored with the current topic buzzing in his ear(whenever budget cuts were to be made, everyone whined spectacularly), Arthur descended the staircase and walked to the laundry room; he needed to check and see if the dryer had finished.

He found Alfred there, pulling off his stained jacket and throwing it into the washing machine.

Arthur raised an eyebrow; the long-sleeved shirt needed to go too, with its array of dark sweat stains.

Alfred, apparently agreed and pulled it off, and tossed it into the machine.

Arthur dropped his phone.

Alfred started at the loud CLACK as well as Arthur's gasp and whipped around, "Da-Fa-Ar-arthur?"

"What happened?!" Arthur demanded. "My God, what-what-what-" his hands hovered over the small body, as he took in the staggering amount of bruises.

"Um...your phone...there's a dude trying to talk to y-"

Arthur carefully picked the child up and headed to the kitchen.

"What are you-I'm fine. Arthur! I'm fine."

"You need ice. Immediately."

"No, I'm ok. I don't-"

Bruises and welts. His torso was mottled with them; red, blue, yellow, green, black!

"I told you that game was too violent. I told you! Just look at you! Did you fall again? Are some of those from the fall you had the other day? Why didn't you tell me?"

"No! Gimme a day and lots to eat, and I'll heal up in two shakes! Arthur, I'm warning you! I'm losing my temper! I've been hurt waaay worse than this! I'm not some little baby that needs you to drop everything to tend me. I don't need a wetnurse-"

Arthur gave him a dark look.

"I don't! Now lemme down and go grab your phone and fin-"

"Hang the phone. This is a time for rest and you're-you're being reckless! You're pushing yourself and I don't know why."

"You don't understand!"

"Then explain so I will!"

Alfred went quiet at that.

Arthur breathed heavily as he pulled a Ziploc bag out to fill with ice. There were so many areas to treat and Alfred only had two ice packs.

Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself, "You're a nation of innovation: can't you find something to do that's entertaining **_AND_** safe?!"

* * *

Alfred glowered at Arthur from his spot on the couch.

Arthur delivered a stony look back as he knitted.

His father had ignored all of his dismissals, protests, and desires.

He'd wanted Arthur to leave him alone. Not happening.

He'd wanted to take a hot shower (cuz they're relaxing). Arthur vehemently argued against it-insisting that too much heat would worsen the bruises by causing more bleeding and swelling. And so Alfred had been forced to take a lukewarm bath...which didn't do much for his temperament.

He'd wanted to throw on some jeans and head by the grocery store (Thanksgiving was in four days, there were supplies to fetch!). No deal.

After practically manhandling Alfred into a set of loose fitting pajamas, Arthur had plonked him on the couch and bombarded him with ice packs.

Alfred's revenge was to continually flick through television channels-over and over and over. He'd already made about 40 cycles and Arthur's eyebrows were beginning to twitch.

He was focused on trying to set a new Guinness World Record of fastest channel changing when the remote was plucked from his hands.

"Hey!" He lurched for the device but England's reach was greater than his and the T.V. was promptly turned off. England set the remote on his side's end table.

Alfred groaned in boredom induced misery and glared at the ceiling.

When Arthur moved closer, Alfred instinctively began to curl up to give him room, so he was surprised when the man gently grasped his legs-coaxing him to rest his feet on Arthur's lap.

Arthur's hands began gently rubbing Alfred's feet.

Alfred was sure Political Satirists and Cartoonists would have a field day and interpret all sorts of stuff from this image.

Alfred blinked.

He...just didn't usually let people near his feet unless they were checking him over for a twisted ankle.

Though…

The one who checked him for that sort of stuff…

Was usually England…

"Let me know if I use too much pressure" was the stern advisement as England put himself into the task-green eyes focused.

He jerked as England's hands focused on his right foot-clasping it between them.

Which made England blink in surprise and concern, "Did that...hurt?"

Alfred blushed, "N-no, I just-no one usually touches my feet."

No one usually touched him period.

Not like this.

He shook hands. He gave and took claps on the shoulder and the occasional hug (with varying degrees of contact).

He'd been known to give noogies and to poke people to get a rise out of them.

If someone was being a jerk, he gave the shoulder-clip-body-check. He carried people to safety. He gave high fives.

He just...didn't usually do this.

Texas would often comment that he was kinda like a cat. He'd decide when he wanted a hug...and from who. And the only ones he'd usually get cuddly with were Hawaii and Texas...and sometimes Lithuania (because he was just so nice and didn't mind giving hugs or hanging out after a scary story or movie).

His body tensed and twitched again, as the other foot was given attention.

Arthur paused and looked at him.

"S-sorry," Alfred mumbled "My feet are...kinda sensitive."

"I imagine so, you cast with them-"

"Huh?"

"I cast with my hands which is why I have a wand. You cast with your feet" Arthur chuckled to himself "I think that plays into why you're so fidgety sometimes."

Alfred stared at his striped socks.

With his feet? Hazy memories flickered at the edges of his mind-like distant flames and he'd need to catch all the ashes if he was gonna remember everything.

Arthur carefully removed the socks and set them to the side.

Arthur ran his hands over his feet several times-warming the skin, "You don't want tension in your casting limbs."

He used his thumbs to rub circles from the heels to the balls of his feet.

"You want your magic to flow easily through. It lessens the chance of a spell misfiring and significantly reduces the likelihood of injury. In short," Here Arthur looked him in the eye "Your body needs to be well cared for."

He used his knuckles to knead the soles of the feet.

"Blood circulation will be very important in your case."

"Why's that?"

"Your feet are the furthest thing from your heart-"

"Right. Right, oxygen...kay."

Arthur wrapped his fingers around each toe and pulled very gently. He shook his head as several abruptly popped.

"Ahhh" Alfred sighed in relief

Arthur's hands found several especially tender areas on his arches.

"How many hours have you been standing?"

"Too many" Alfred answered evasively.

Arthur tutted, "Everything will have an effect, Love. Sore tendons, tender ankles, stress fractures-they'll all add up. Not to mention if you roll an ankle or god forbid get frostbite..."

Arthur ran his hands smoothly up and down, moving onto his ankles and gently rotating them.

It was getting hard to focus on anything.

"...Magic...well...somewhat like electrical energy...you don't...body...er um...capacitor, I suppose?"

Alfred yawned as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

"...I...the danger is...well, I suppose it is rather similar to overcharging a cap-"

"Uh huh."

"-as you can imagine...pose danger to you...standing near you...be very careful if you cast while inju...that's very important, Sweet."

"So massage is good for me?" Alfred drowsily asked. That was what they were talking about right? Maybe. Whatever.

"Yes. Massage has many benefits. Numerous medical professionals..."

The world faded as Arthur chatted on.

Alfred felt his lip twitch into a smile; it was really just fun hearing him say "massage" with his accent.

"...provides an opportunity for connection...our bond...mend...I wish to…"

Alfred woke up in a completely different position with his head pillowed on Arthur's lap).

His old man was watching the news and absentmindedly petting Alfred's hair.

Dude! The sun had gone down! He'd slept the entire afternoon away!

He huffed, "I'm a day behind!"

"What's that now?"

"There's a bunch of stuff I have to get from the store. I usually make it a two part trip. Now, I'm gonna have to do it all tomorrow."

"For your...Thanksgiving? You still have several days, Pet."

"I've got an all day appointment with...my government on Monday and then I'll need Tuesday to...wind down. And everybody's gonna show up on Wednesday night and Thursday morning..."

He was gonna be sore as hell once that evaluation was over...he was gonna need a crazy amount of Tylenol if he was gonna pull off a big Thanksgiving celebration (it was kinda nerve-wracking since everybody was anxious to see him...which meant he'd have a much higher turnout than usual and he'd need to keep his "happy face" on at all times...even if his ribs were bruised...which they probably would be-if he had to spar Cliff for his evaluation.)

Arthur stroked his hair gently, "Now now, no need to be anxious. If you're not up to it, they need to reschedule."

"I'm up for it. I'll...be up for it." If he rescheduled, it'd confirm that Al was down for the count and who knew what his boss would do as a result.

"It's strange though, no one mentioned that the other week...and no one's called regarding-Here" Arthur reached for his phone "Let me put that...in my calendar."

"It'll be a closed session" Alfred remarked pointedly.

Arthur took it in stride.

"What time do you need to me drop you off?"

"Stuart will drive me to and from."

"Oh...is there a presentation you need to give? You can practice it in front of me. Barbados and Jamaica do."

"Uh...thanks...but nah, I'm good." The last thing his self-esteem needed was Arthur picking apart one of his speeches.

"...what groceries will you need? I'll put the list in my phone, so we can have a productive morning tomorrow."

That...could actually be helpful. Alfred took a deep breath and began rattling off supplies.

Arthur began giving him strange looks as the list became massive. Hey, he'd already warned that it was usually a two part trip.

"...and cranberries. Did I already say potatoes?"

"Yes, Sweet."

"What about sweet potatoes?"

"...No."

"Those too then! And paper towels because someone will drop something. They always do. And Windex cuz we're running low."

"You have two bottles."

"I KNOW! Tex really let our supplies dwindle."

"Dear, I think this is more than enough."

"There's a lotta people though! For Sure, we've got Hawaii, Alaska, Molossia, Guam, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Canada, Wales, Stuart, Spain, You, Texas, and Me. And then we've got the Probably Nots: cuz I'm pretty sure the Northern Mariana Islands and Puerto Rico are having Thanksgiving together, they've become really good pen pals. So I don't think they're gonna surprise us by just showing up at the door...but ya never know. Then the Who-The-Hell-Knows: I never know when American Samoa is gonna come, he just shows or he doesn't. Same goes for the U.S. Virgin Islands. I think she's in Australia for a surfing competition...but she does love pie…" he sucked air between his teeth "I dunno...I need to have extra food just in case! Cuz, cuz, cuz: No one is allowed to go hungry when **_I'm_** hosting a feast! Plus, whenever I've got a large amount of people coming-there's always two people who show up who weren't expected at all. That's just the way it goes."

Arthur watched him closely.

"Dishwashing detergent! Lots of it! Cuz I'll need to clean all the dishes before the event and after!"

"Goodness. This sounds like quite a lot to do. And who will be helpi-"

"You dunno the half of it! I'll need to press all the napkins, place mats, tablecloths, and runners. Dig out the bin of autumn garlands and decorations. Cuz it's just not Thanksgiving without my trusty cornucopia. Track down candles. Go by the florist. Make sure Texas cleans the yards. Buy some cheap Tupperware, that I can send everyone off with. Vacuum, dust, and clean the oven...and the chimney. Oh, I need firewood!"

Arthur stared, "Will we need to make up the guest rooms?"

"HA! No. They've gotta stay at hotels. They know that. That's the drill every time. I've already emailed them all just as a reminder. Betcha didn't know that, huh? During a holiday hosting, I usually don't have anybody spend the night. Hell, sometimes, I even force Texas out. You should feel honored. I'm gonna let ya stay-because you didn't know that rule but next year: you're gonna wanna make a reservation somewhere. It's just for the best man. I'll go Stephen King's _The Shining_ -movie-version-crazy on everybody if I have to play Room-Service-Attendant-Laundress on top of Host/Entertainer/Cook/Decorator. So no...don't even joke about that."

"So...no one assists you with this event..." Arthur muttered flatly.

Alfred sighed and ran his hands through his hair, "...I'm sorry, I'm just stressing cuz I'm gonna lose two days of prepping."

"We could go out somewhere instead."

Alfred twitched, "Hell no."

"You don't need this sort of pressure. I can't believe...why don't you hire a coordinator-"

"Because NO. This my holiday! My bonafide holiday. My pilgrims! And I just...I gotta do it RIGHT!"

"...Pilgrims...Yes, that reminds me are any...First Nations coming? Considering recent events…it would be a good opportunity to reach out-"

"You mean like, are they coming to egg my house? Nah, don't worry. They've only ever done that once...I think they forgot that Texas would be here. And well...you know him…yeah, that was an interesting year. Don't worry though, I managed to lure him back through town and to our house on horseback with an apple turnover."

"Right. Well, this all sounds rather…"

"Stressful? That's just part of the holiday, dude. By the way, just as a heads-up. Somebody's gonna freak out at the dinner table. Happens every year. It's like that game 'Hot Potato' and ya just don't know who it's gonna be. Could be me, could be you, could be Guam."

Arthur released a breath through his nose, and stroked his hand through Alfred's hair, "Would you like me to put on a movie? Or some music? I ordered a pizza, should be here soon and all this...unpleasant talk could harm digestion."

"Um...okay. Yeah, that's...that's actually a good idea" Alfred sat up and hugged his legs "So ya think...maybe something...with a happy ending?"

Arthur stood up and approached Al's DVD collection.

"Hey Al," Tex peeked his head in "You up? Been meaning to ask, have you seen my-oh-"

"You!" Arthur spat-pointing at the Texan with Disney's animated _Pinocchio_. "You've been avoiding me! Now take your comeuppance."

"Uhhh-"

Alfred sprang from his seat to aid his brother but-Too late! Arthur had him cornered!

Texas yelped as Arthur pulled his ear, "You are the elder brother. How could you allow this to happen?! What were you thinking? He's much too small for such a rough sport! And now he's injured!"

"Stopitstopitstopit!" Alfred grabbed Arthur's sweater and pulled-stretching the fabric irreparably.

"Alfred!"

"I wanted to go! Me! My choice! I wanted to keep my aiming skills honed!"

"And he just had to go along with it? Hmm? Couldn't offer any alternatives?"

"Uhhhh." Texas looked desperately to Alfred, willing him to think of something snappy.

"Dude! It's November and it's too cold for squirt guns! So what alternative was there, then? Huh, smart guy?" Alfred poked-triumph glittering in his blue eyes.

Arthur released Texas and shook his head. Eyeing them both with barely contained righteous parental anger Arthur burst, "Laser tag! Those nerf dart guns! Pillow wars for Christ's sake."

Several beats passed and then simultaneously, there was a twin chorus of "fuck."

Because...yes...those were other options. They just...wouldn't have been good covers for why Al was getting so bruised up.

Alfred had correctly guessed that Arthur would NOT have understood his need to spar before his evaluation. Or the nature of his evaluation, period. So they'd come up with the plan that they'd finish each sparring day with an hour of paintballing. That way if he looked beat up, they could blame it on the sport and Alfred's need for aggressive play.

Dammit, he and Tex locked eyes. They'd thought it was foolproof.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and he breathed heavily. He looked down-eyes zeroing in the on the hand still holding his shirt.

Alfred blushed and immediately let go-scurrying back to the couch with Texas hot on his heels.

Geez, Arthur could be scary.

He risked a look back and saw Arthur staring disapprovingly at them both.

Feet planted, arms crossed...he was a force to be reckoned with...

Fine.

Okay.

Alfred would concede; he hadn't thought of a good enough lie to keep his father fooled.

As if to drive that point home, the doorbell rang.

Ding Ding. Round Over. His old man had won.

Maybe he should just come clean about the evaluation.

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDD


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Costco. Or Crimewatch. Or Hunger Games.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Vietnam War. Snobby French Art Critics. Misunderstandings. Suspicions of abuse. Nagging parent. Superstitions regarding left-handedness. Sir Humphry Davy: an English chemist and inventor (look him up! He was also pals with Samuel Taylor Coleridge!) Alexander Parkes-an English inventor and metallurgist. Poking a wee bit of fun at Jehovah Witnesses. Duct Tape.

 **Special Warning:** Less than rosy view of the Executive Branch in the U.S. (as its actions in this chap are simultaneously justifiable and unjustifiable). Less than satisfied feelings towards the way the U.S. typically does tests; we obsess over time-efficiency and so we'll jam-pack intensive testing into _one day_ regardless of how different the courses may be (Physical, Academic, Artistic; you name it, we'll snowball it together into a Doomsday Boulder). Which means it's quite likely that at some point you will endure the dreaded video-game-esque BAD ENDING...*cue the eclipse* Lord Sauron has won and your suffering amuses him. You will need to run two miles, take a Statistics exam, give an 8 minute presentation in Biology class on flatworms...alone, write an essay for History, write two essays for English under a thirty minute time limit for each, and then be prepared for a singing/dancing/or instrument solo test for your elective. Oh...and our examiners will usually frown if you display signs of weakness such as: needing the restroom, needing a Kleenex, or needing to eat. I don't know if it's like this in other countries, but this has been my personal experience.

Ahem. Rant Over.

 **Note:** Thank you so much for your reviews! : D I read them repeatedly for motivation. Now onwards!

 **Chapter 4: Whether We Like It Or Not, They're Family**

* * *

The next few hours (following the fading glory of Domino's pizza-y goodness) went by agonizingly slow; with Arthur turning the T.V. on and keeping it on a news station. Worse, he took that as a good opportunity to lecture Alfred on the importance of keeping up with current events on a global scale.

He was also less than subtly pushing Alfred and Texas to each write Francis a letter (by hand because it shows more sincerity and goodwill) to show the Frenchman some support after his terrorist attack.

Which yeah...that was a good idea but it was still kinda...weird… how France and England were always at each other's throats...unless somebody else showed up and then they teamed up against them.

It was good...but...weird...

Texas finished early-only writing: _2 years. Hold on._

Which England had humphed at-remarking that there was no need to be political-this was a personal letter.

Though Arthur liked Texas's suggestion that Al draw the Frenchman something too. It was a great idea! Francis was so art snobby that critiquing Alfred's (sloppy) doodle would undoubtedly lift his spirits! Ya know, the same way attacking his movies made England happy.

And so now he was drawing with his colored pencils.

He needed more yellow for the corn stalks.

He drew himself pushing a wooden wheelbarrow in the countryside. There was a bundle of hay in the wheelbarrow and what he felt was a fairly accurate picture of Francis peeking out from under the hay in his 1780s uniform.

With a sharpie, he wrote in cursive: _Remember when I had to smuggle you out of town? That was fun! We need to have another adventure! :)_

He sighed. Really, he needed an adventure super bad. An adventure could get him outta this funk. An adventure would restore his hero status.

Plus, he was bored. Essentially, he was under house arrest...and it sucked.

He glanced over and found that Arthur was watching him.

Oh noes...his warden was peering at his drawing.

"Um..."

That was bad.

"I..."

That was real bad.

Arthur always lost his shit whenever the 1770s cropped up.

"Uhh..."

He waited for fury but…

Nothing.

If anything Arthur looked rather...amused.

Arthur raised a bushy brow and caught Alfred's eye, "I sense there's quite a story there."

Green eyes looked at him expectantly.

Alfred fumbled with his marker as he explained that during the Revolution when they were spying on some Loyalists, Francis had gotten tangled up in an affair with a tavern girl who was engaged...and married...and already had a lover too. All of whom wanted to beat Francis to a pulp...because he'd flirted so openly with her. So he'd needed to get him outta there and fast!

His heart beat kinda fast when Arthur muted the television to better hear him. Usually, anything happening between the 1770s and the 1790s was just taboo. That was just the way it was.

Arthur sat patiently with a large smirk and moved his hand in a "go on" motion-chuckling when Alfred mentioned how the Frenchman had to hide with the chickens and that Alfred had to make an elaborate story to explain to the farmers that it was an ancient French ritual that would bring them good luck...but they needed to stay there two days for it to work.

Arthur had seemed to enjoy the story...though once Alfred was done, Arthur did ask if that was the right sort of uplifting tale Francis needed to hear in his difficult time.

Alfred reluctantly agreed.

Alfred sighed as he contemplated his picture, "You're...probably right. It's just...I finally just remembered…"

He made to crumple it but Arthur rescued it from his fingers.

As Arthur admired the image and chuckled to himself, he suggested that Alfred draw one of the World Fairs that France hosted instead.

* * *

It was a good thing Arthur was blond and CostCo didn't stare too hard at Alfred's club card. He'd flashed it at the staff member who'd boredly waved them in.

Alfred hated to admit but...it was kind of fun getting to hang onto the cart while Arthur pushed it.

"Alfred are you sure we need all this?"

"Yes." Was the resolute answer every time that question was asked, even when they ended up having three carts-worth of groceries.

Arthur eyed their caravan of carts with heavy contempt as he nibbled at his corn dog.

He also hadn't been impressed when Alfred insisted on using a table with an umbrella.

"We're indoors" he muttered.

Tch. Like that mattered. Umbrellas were cool!

"Hey Arthur?" He dipped his corn dog into a glob of mustard and rolled it.

"Yes?"

"I…was wondering..."

Did his government put him through paces...like a horse? The way Al's government did? Should he talk about it? Should he not? What would Arthur do if he knew? Would that make things better or worse?

Both eyes were on him.

Did he need Daddy to come to his rescue again? So soon? Needed his support? His validation to participate in this examination?

"I...I finished that puzzle."

It wasn't a lie; he did...in the morning.

"Oho," Arthur smiled "Too easy for you."

He took a bite, started to talk, noticed Arthur's wrinkled nose, closed his mouth chewed and swallowed.

"Um. What were those dudes and dudettes doing? Is it a ceremony or something?"

There'd been several robed people in a circle with candles and tree boughs.

Arthur's eyes lit up, "Winter Solstice. You see, your uncles and I would be leading you through that ritual. I daresay, it should be rather exciting-we haven't had another member in ages. You'll find yourself revital-"

He slurped on his straw.

No. He didn't need Arthur's approval to do stuff.

Damn this small body, it must've been giving him colonial nostalgia impulses. A few more days and the evaluation would be over and then he could relax.

* * *

The evaluation sucked!

And he knew they'd set it up that way on purpose.

They'd made an obstacle course that would've been a pain in the ass when he was an adult-let alone in his child body and he'd had to run in full gear with straps that had not been modified for his new size.

To add insult to injury, the gear had been his own from a previous mission. Making it painfully obvious that he was, for all intents and purposes, trying to "fill big shoes." The irony being that they were his own.

He'd only had five minutes with it (which he made use of by creatively using duct tape to keep the pack on himself). Duct tape. God bless duct tape. He never left home without it.

Been saving his butt since World War II-when they'd seal ammunition containers with the tape to protect them from the elements and rough handling. And they found they could even make repairs on weaponry and vehicles with the adhesive tape.

While he'd been able to complete the course under the designated time, it'd been by only two seconds. He'd scraaaped by and he knew it. But he'd have liked to see someone else run it too. Naturally, there'd been no volunteers.

His consolation had been the gun range tests.

He'd been a marksman for centuries!

It was only natural that he was an ace.

It had really surprised him though, to see one of his president's personal aides in his peripheral. The man had stared at him unwaveringly as he talked on his phone. Several military officials were trying to engage him in conversation and...prevent him from disrupting their nation.

Why the hell was he here? To be frank, there were a helluva lot of other things he could've been making better use of his time doing.

Alfred turned hard blue eyes back to the task at hand.

Though the heavy frown on the aide's face struck a chord deep within him.

He was reporting back...and Alfred's success wasn't being well-received.

Well...that did waaaay more to focus his attention on his targets than the proud nods of his military personnel.

As the pit of his stomach fell, he knew intrinsically that his president was going to make sure he was let go regardless of how he performed.

Breathe in.

This whole evaluation was just a facade.

Breathe out.

It wasn't like his recovery after the Civil War, when he'd been legitimately sickly and how well he'd perform was up in the air. Out in the frontier, they couldn't afford weak leadership.

This. This was a ploy to make Alfred feel inadequate.

That's why the obstacles had been so difficult. They were tailor made.

Aim.

They'd hoped to intimidate him into submission-hoped that he'd take one look and think himself outmatched.

Fire.

Well, no sir. That's not how he worked.

Aim.

He was freaking America!

Fire.

He'd probably shocked them all by being inflexibly determined to perform. To prove himself...and if proving himself meant proving them wrong-that was just a happy bonus.

A grim smile curved his lips.

He'd called their bluff and they'd been forced to carry through.

Coldness seeped in through his gut, up through his heart, and into his head-freezing the angry passion into workable, rational, facts.

He was gonna be let go. That was the end point.

There was no avoiding that.

Well then.

What he could do was manipulate the events leading up to that.

If he was gonna be let go, they'd need to do it in face of an excellent, flawless performance of skills.

Let it be the most goddamned, uncomfortable, contrived decision they all made.

He aced the exam they issued him on the Constitution.

In a two hour period he wrote four lengthy dissertations on various prompts they assigned him regarding current issues facing his country.

And in the combat exam, he'd ultimately thwarted his opponents-despite it being five on one in several of the rounds.

They'd wanted him to resign.

No chance.

If they wanted him gone, there was no way in hell he was gonna make it easy for them.

He'd changed from his uniform to civilian wear on the car ride back to his house. Yeah, he was unbuckled when he did it and that was illegal and he just didn't care.

It was hard to care about much of anything with so much frustration swirling through his mind. Though he did feel one spark of gratitude as he contemplated the uniform on the floor of the car.

Last week, Tex had sweet talked Tim's wife into taking one of Al's spare uniforms and modifying it fit his new size. He'd have done it himself only there was no way Arthur wouldn't have noticed and asked.

He stared at the khaki shirt, it was a shame that all her hard work had gone to waste.

"General?" Stuart Johnson called from the driver's seat. "You did well, sir."

"Thanks, Stuart. And I really appreciated your help today."

Stuart been great earlier-always ready with a water bottle and towels and pens and a dictionary-pretty much whatever Alfred needed.

"I'm proud to have been of assistance."

It was probably the nicest thing the man had ever said to him; he tended to vocally disapprove of almost everything Alfred did or said.

Still that scrap of support wasn't enough to soothe the unhappy churning of his stomach as they parked in the driveway.

It was hard to say which made him feel worse his imminent demotion or what Arthur would have to say when he saw him.

He had a strong urge to climb through a window and put off the meeting for a while, but Arthur had promised to help him set up the dining room's decorations.

Stuart walked him up to the front door.

He'd barely opened it when he noticed Arthur coming down the stairs with a basket full of tablecloths in his arms. The man paused on the bottom step and stared unblinkingly at him.

Alfred felt his mouth go dry, "S-somebody...opened the door and the knob got me in the eye." He'd really taken Cliff's elbow there...but he wasn't sure how Arthur would take that news-considering he'd freaked out over paintball.

He'd practiced the lie several times in the bathroom. Trying to convince himself that his left eye (which was purple and swollen shut) wasn't that noticeable.

Arthur had wordlessly set the basket down, disappeared into the kitchen and brought him back ice, though when he handed it over his hands shook hard.

"Does that happen often?"

"Huh?"

"Doorknobs and paintball bullets, do they attack often in the Capitol?"

What? Alfred blinked in bewilderment.

Arthur's hair shadowed his eyes as his head lowered, "You can tell me. You can tell me, Sweet."

Whaaaa?

Abruptly, his head snapped up-green eyes sharp, "We all get bad ones now and then. It's impossible to avoid. A matter of statistics. The important thing is to get away and to tell someone. Silence is _**not**_ heroic. Not in a matter such as this."

Holy shit! Arthur thought he was being abused!

"It's not like that, dude! It was a-a-an accident."

Dammit. That sounded lame even to his own ears.

Arthur made an angry, frustrated sound.

"Of course. An accident. You seem to be having quite a few as of late" he began breathing hard.

"W-well...I...um…"

"And if I were to roll up your sleeves," Arthur continued nearly hyperventilating. "I wouldn't find any new bruises."

Craaap. Dude! It was like England's Parental Mode had gone into high gear.

The Briton took a step forward.

The American instinctively took a step back.

Shitshitshit. He shouldn't have done that!

Loud, angry, British swearing filled the house.

He didn't blame Stuart one bit, for backing up and closing the front door on his way out. He really didn't need the neighbors hearing this.

Arthur paced like an angry caged beast-cursing all three branches of his government.

"H-hey-"

"Don't you dare defend this! I'll launch an investigation, we'll get the EU involved, you don't need to endure this, when I tell Parliament-when-when I tell the Queen-"

The jig was up. He needed to do damage control...and fast.

"Arthur, they don't beat me!" he shouted-trying to be heard over the scathing commentary. "Arthur? Arthur? Arthur!? Dad! Daaaad! Daddy!"

That last one got his attention and Arthur swept towards him-the tips of his fingers lightly touching his face, turning it to better view the injury.

"They don't hurt me, okay? This-this was" dammit he didn't want to use the word 'necessary' which might spiral Arthur even further into the "Hurricane of Crazy."

He had to hope coming clean would calm the storm.

"Part of my evaluation. I needed to prove to my government that I could still defend myself from would-be attackers. They're trying to discharge me from the military. I had to fight to prove I'm still capable. I'm probably gonna still be fired, but I didn't want them assigning me a nanny or a bodyguard or something stupid like tha-"

"And what precisely is involved in an **e _valuation_**?" Arthur asked as he sat down on the bottom step of the staircase.

Alfred suppressed a shudder; Arthur's voice had gone soft, and deep, and silky.

To somebody who didn't know him, it'd probably sound pleasant and...intrigued and the receiver of it would usually happily babble their secrets.

Usually when you heard it, something bad was going to happen.

Alfred swallowed-he'd need to be vague, "Well...there are...tests. Writing tests, and agility tests, and knowledge tests, there's even a brief Optometry and Reflex test right at the very beginning!"

He had to play the combat part down. Had to!

"Goodness, agility tests. Any rope or cargo net climbing?"

"Ya know..." Alfred admitted "There-there was! But I'm good at that stuff. I practiced at a lot of kid's parks and stuff-"

England nodded encouraging and 'hmm-ed' and "aha-ed" and murmured "I see" at all the right parts and against his will, Alfred felt his defenses lowering.

Arthur patted the spot next to him.

Without much thought, Alfred sat beside him.

"What other tests were there? You were out an awfully long time today. I thought you would've returned much sooner, but we can go to the florist tomorrow."

Alfred frowned a bit guiltily, he had been leaving Arthur alone in the house a lot...with just a bunch of Thanksgiving chores to do. Old man sounded a little lonely and tired. Alfred supposed he wasn't being a very good host...

"There was a really long multiple choice test that used a combo of rules and laws. And I had to sort out which belonged to which state or territory. Or went for _**all**_ or _**none**_ of them. And I had to write essays...and I had to swim. And there was an obstacle course too. It was...it was really hard...but I made it! By two seconds, but I made it! I had to use duct tape to make my gear stay put-cuz it kept sliding around-"

"Clever boy."

He couldn't help feeling flattered at that and the warm feeling swept through him.

"I got a 100% on the firing range!"

"Impressive."

"Y-yeah," his heart beat faster and he felt his whole body heat up. "N-nobody thought I'd be able to handle the kickback or adjust for my new height. But I did! I practiced! I practiced really hard these last few days."

"I bet you spent hours remastering your skills."

"Yeah! And it was hard! My fingers are smaller now and so going a long period can make them kinda tingly and sore. But I didn't let that stop me! I knew they'd test me with several models and I was right!"

Arthur curled an arm around him and Alfred unconsciously scuttled closer.

"Humans, they just can't fathom the depth of our determination...let alone our bullheadedness."

Alfred laughed a bit and his fingers began toying with the buckle trimming the top edge of Arthur's boots.

Arthur had always liked boots. Alfred abruptly remembered a visit to one of England's castles when he was very small. He'd had one wardrobe with tons of boots. Some for riding, some for hunting, some that were just for fashion others for exploring. The bucket top ones often had crusts of salt here and there.

In one corner of it he had his fancy shoes, which he wore for meetings or for court or for when he was feeling particularly snobby. But he had a soft spot for boots.

He'd bought Alfred a lot of boots though his were more because he had a tendency to tromp through brambles and snake infested areas...they didn't have the fancy leather etching that Arthur's usually did.

Alfred was lazily trying to distinguish whether the ones Arthur was wearing now, were motorcycle boots or equestrian styled ones.

He sighed as Arthur pet his head.

He realized belatedly that sometime during his reminiscing, he'd pillowed his head on the man's lap and was pretty much hugging one of his legs. Arthur was the one holding the ice to his eye now.

"I imagine" Arthur mused as the fingers of his free hand ruffled through the golden strands "The combat tests were particularly difficult. It sounds like they were staging all the odds against you deliberately."

"Hell yeah, they were" Alfred pouted. "But I did real well, Cliff just got in a lucky elbow. But don't worry! I was hella awesome. There were five of 'em and I remembered to use their numbers against them. You know, keep them in each other's way. And I didn't let them get me cornered. And I dropped the weakest one as an example to the rest of them to show what I was capable of!"

"And do you know who cleared this evaluation?"

"Hmm? Well...I s'pose there were plenty of people...altogether…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah…"

He'd named about three people, before he noted how disoriented he felt…like he was flying in heavy fog.

Like delivering supplies in 'Nam during monsoon weather. And only crazy bastards like himself happily took on the risks involved. Not crashing was only Part One of those missions, not getting shot to hell by enemies when you touched down was the more difficult portion of Part Two. Sometimes you made it to Part Three (Get the hell outta there)...sometimes you didn't.

Yeah. Air drops ended up being the better way to go.

He shook his head and felt his senses swirl like a snow globe.

"Shh." Arthur's hand gently tucked hair behind his ear. "Now would I need to make an in-person appointment to voice our complaint or will a phone call suffice? I-"

Alfred reeled back and away, "What the hell are you doing to me!?"

"Asking you a question?" Arthur retorted. The velvet quality his voice had possessed a minute ago now missing.

"Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh. You did something. You definitely were doing something. And I don't like it, so stop."

Arthur appraised him with an interesting expression; it almost seemed to be a clash between annoyance and approval. Like he was proud to be...thwarted...or something?

Dammit, how could he have let this happen? This was why he'd tried to send American humans for trading agreements with England during the Victorian Era. That way when they came back all smitten with the Englishman, he could shoot down their crazy requests on behalf of the British Empire. He'd then know what England was angling for and counter it with requests of his own...and then he'd send in a new batch of humans for the second round of negotiations. He usually brought at least eight humans with him specifically for that purpose and sent them two at a time. That way he could escape up to four rounds before he had to make an appearance. Usually, it was only after things were hammered out that he'd show up for the document signing/handshaking bit.

And that was good because somehow England always managed to stretch that out. What should've lasted half an hour managed to take up a week. He didn't doubt their appointments would've lasted much longer if it were just him showing up for the whole shebang.

Some of his earliest diplomatic missions would last months-especially if he couldn't escape before winter hit. And once the allowance his government had allotted him ran out-he'd had no choice but to seek shelter from Arthur.

Something about having Alfred as a captive audience really got the old man to gloat. He'd be dragged all through the abode as Arthur pointed out the spoils of his latest conquest.

Always had the best of everything, he was an empire and don't you forget it!

And damn, it had been awkward smiling inanely at his side...standing there in shoes whose soles were wearing out and stockings that needed to be mended every other night...pretending that he didn't feel out of place at all.

It was a strange reversal. When he was little he'd cursed the ocean that separated him from his father, as he'd grown older he'd learned to value it as a godsend.

There was something oily about England and the way he could manipulate things to go in his favor. Or the shame he could instill, when one did something in a back-woodsy manner.

Distance was important.

Distance let Alfred recover.

"Goodness. How defensive" Arthur murmured as he stroked his cheek. "Though I suppose it's to be expected considering the stressors you've endured this day-"

"I said stop it."

England huffed and lightly flicked his ear, "I don't understand why an evaluation was even necessary. A medical discharge would've been more than sufficient. Not the bloody _Hunger Games_! What the fu-"

"Hey!" He was always tearing at him and while he could usually bear it. It hurt today. There were too many places in him that were already worn raw. He couldn't deal with salt being rubbed in.

"-absolutely absurd! Really gone to the dogs-Must be a madhouse to even consider-"

" _Please_...stop…" He really couldn't deal with this.

"..."

Arthur sighed and pulled the ice away. He checked Alfred's injured eye-probing the area carefully. When Alfred flinched, his brows furrowed and he looked away.

He informed him that he'd gone ahead and dusted the house. Was Alfred planning on decorating the chandelier over the dining table? He'd located a collection of autumn themed picks and garlands. There were also two harvest wreaths in the decorations Texas had brought in. Which one did he want on the front door?

* * *

Arthur felt another flash of white-hot outrage as he glanced at the ACE bandage on Alfred's left wrist. And every time Alfred faced him...he desperately had to count to ten several times in his head.

It gave him terrible flashbacks of his less than jaunty trip through the child's subconscious.

Poor Red…

It made his insides crash like violent waves.

How dare they treat him so carelessly! Combat, now of all times?! Recovering from kidnapping and battle and they decide a little roughing up was what he needed?!

 _Focus Arthur, old boy, focus now._

He couldn't afford to burn the surprisingly ornate bronze colored table runner.

He turned the iron to a lower setting just as a precaution.

He was begrudgingly proud that Alfred had realized he was being very lightly enchanted to reveal information.

But he wondered if the child would piece together that the real reason it came out so easily was because Alfred, himself, had already wanted to tell him.

Arthur simply relaxed his inhibitions with a little well-aimed reassurance.

Arthur couldn't even call it a proper charm. There'd been no real effort on his part or resistance on Alfred's.

He was still a bit sore about it though. Apparently, he'd thought himself a Fort Knox when it came to sensitive information.

Funny how he seemed to forget Arthur's long legacy of espionage, influence, and diplomacy.

Alfred was sitting on some pillows counting out napkin rings on the table. Texas was behind him sprawled on the couch, snoring. Earlier, he hadn't seem terribly surprised by the state of his younger brother. Only bothering to remind him which bathroom had the most stocked First Aid kit.

The lack of concern nettled England deeply.

Alfred tapped his fingers on the table in agitation, "Do you think I should have seating arrangements? I mean Canada will need a corner so he doesn't bump anybody with his abnormal left-handedness."

Arthur felt his eye twitch as he had a vivid memory of a four year old Alfred gleefully chasing poor Mathieu with a ruler-determined to slap the "witchery" out of him.

Though that behavior stopped swiftly when Arthur whisked it away and gave the rascal a sharp wrap on the knuckles with it.

"Guam's friendly, he can be sat next to anyone but it seems unkind to put him next to Wales."

It was the oddest thing.

They barely interacted and yet Alfred seemed to have a real grudge against Arthur's Welsh brother. Even in light, of Wales' heroic actions mere weeks ago.

Sure, he wasn't the most amiable relative, but Alfred did owe him some gratitude.

He opened his mouth to voice his displeasure, but was interrupted by aggressive knocking and doorbell ringing.

"Wow" Alfred murmured and checked his watch "The Jehovah Witnesses really _**are**_ getting more aggressive if they're coming out this late."

Arthur turned the iron off and followed Alfred to the door. Perhaps, he'd watched too many episodes of _Crimewatch_ over the years but...there was no way he'd let the child answer it alone.

He'd only recently convinced Alfred and Texas to install a security system. He'd stressed the importance of protecting their property if not themselves.

Even so, they didn't turn the system on until right before bed...if they remembered.

"Here Alfred, I can-"

Too late.

The child fearlessly unlocked the front door and flung it open.

In that split second, Arthur noted there was a long umbrella in the nearby stand just in case it was some never-do-well burgl-Oh!

His...brothers…

What the devil were they doing here?

Scotland adjusted his hold on his trunk, "There ya are laddie-I was wondering what was takin' ya-whoa!"

"Boyo, tha's quite a shiner."

"A keeker indeed. Ya start a brawl at someone's lemonade stand or somethin'?"

"Maybe he was fightin' for the last Power Ranger doll in the toy aisle!"

They both sniggered heartily.

Alfred frowned, "What are you...those are _action figures._..and I'd totally win, but that's not...it's not Thanksgiving til Thursday…why are you here?"

"Humph. Good evening to you too" Reilley huffed as both men pushed past with their luggage into the house.

"My goodness" Wales remarked as he came up the drive after waving the taxicab off. He came to stand beside Arthur. He eyed the child's injury and commented rather airily, "Why...you're not in jail, Arthur. I'm surprised you were so gentle with his assailants. Usually, you have so much trouble curbing your...more violent tendencies."

"..."

"I see. You weren't there. How fortunate for them."

His fists clenched. Because...no he wouldn't have allowed that test to occur. And had he seen it! Oh, if he'd walked in and seen it! Anger and frustration swirled hotly in his breast.

"Nononono," Alfred waved his hands desperately "I sent you emails. You can't crash here."

"Ha! 'Course we can, we're family" Scotland declared shutting the door "And the hotel rates and the traffic this time of year are outrageous. No, much easier this way. Didn't even have to rent a car-"

"But I asked-"

"We're family and we saved your arse. And we called your cells three times. Should've picked up and then you wouldn't be surprised now."

Alfred's cheeks puffed up in annoyance, "Yeah, well, kay. Fine. Consider World War I paid back but tell me you're joking. Tell me you've got somewhere for the other few days, right?"

All three of his uncles looked down at him with a frown.

The child turned to Arthur imploringly.

The Englishman shrugged a shoulder and smirked, "They're quite right, Alfred. We're a clan. Whether we like it or not, they're family. Free room and board is a given...and so is their free labor. So put them to work: Wales can figure out the seating arrangement, Scotland can clean the chimney in the dining room, and North has always had a good hand for polishing silverware."

* * *

The late hours of Thanksgiving Eve (As Alfred dubbed it) found Arthur contemplating the child sniffling against his chest.

Between a bombardment of healing spells from the family and his own country's natural resilience, the black eye had faded greatly over the past few days...along with the other bruises and welts.

The wrist was still a bit tender though.

But all of that would heal easily enough.

He was more worried about healing Alfred's mind. He'd slept well for about an hour before...sorrow (Arthur didn't know what else to call it) struck him hard.

"Don't leave me," the child whimpered in his now fretful sleep.

"Never," Arthur assured.

"John, you liar..."

A flash of panic ran through him because if Alfred was mourning the same John that had been partially eaten...

"You said you'd come back..."

"Shhh, my Sweet."

Rubbing his back woke him up enough to stare at Arthur with teary eyes.

"He said he'd come back" the child warbled pitifully. "He sailed back to you, and he didn't-And the people wasted their supplies looking for gold and everything got-got-got _scary_ without him."

England curled his arms more tightly around the little one.

"Who, pet?"

"John…"

"John, who?"

"Smith..."

"Oh? Oh! Hmph….Oh, come now, don't shed tears on that longwinded braggart."

"He said he was my...friend and he'd come back...but he didn't!"

"Well...he did sail back to your coast" Arthur replied. "So he did come back, he must not've been able to find you. I'm sure he was sad for that."

John loved having an audience enraptured by his supposed adventures. He couldn't have asked for a better listener than young America.

Arthur had certainly gotten addicted to it. The child had lavished him with enough genuine regard, reverence, and praise that Arthur had often found himself recounting his own experiences as well as fairytales with far more detail than was strictly necessary.

If he was honest with himself, losing the child's admiration and attention had been painful.

His pride bruised spectacularly when the newly independent America became coldly disinterested in what used to be their favored topics of conversation. No longer did he want to discuss the merits of different knights or the architecture of Arthur's churches and castles.

He wanted to sign their treaties and contracts and leave.

So Arthur had to try harder, create incentives to make him stay. Alfred had been shrewdly interested in his textile factories, so he made use of that; and though it was but a grim shadow of the earnest enthusiasm Alfred once paid him, he took it nonetheless.

Then Arthur discovered the boy's weakness for science.

Oh, how the wonders of chemistry and technology wove a spell over that boy. And so Arthur surrounded himself with the best, the brightest. He coordinated meetings for the boy with prominent figures like Sir Humphry Davy and Alexander Parkes.

Naturally, Alfred couldn't turn those opportunities down.

Especially, once trains were involved.

He'd been in raptures over the ingenuity of trains and immediately began writing his government on the necessity of them.

Little fingers twisting into his shirt, jerked him back into the moment at hand.

"I waited and waited...they never...they never come back. The ships are always leaving."

He shushed the child gently, smoothing his hair from his forehead.

"And the people who smell of ships of...of sea water...they always...leave." His eyelids began to flutter closed "I think I always knew...you'd leave."

"Untrue." Arthur felt indignation seep into him, "Alfred, I'm right here. As I'll always-Alfred?!"

He gave the child a little shake because he wanted to confront that vicious falsehood, but the child had descended into a deep sleep.

Arthur reflected rather bitterly that it was really quite the opposite: _Alfred_ was the one who always left, and Arthur was the one forced to watch him go.

He'd fallen into a fitful sleep after that-dreaming he was playing hide and seek with his child...in a cemetery.

When morning light slanted across his face, Arthur jolted awake. He wanted to discuss last night.

But the child was gone.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the song The Fields of Athenry. Or Captain America.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). British pancakes are waaaaaay thinner than American ones (US and CAN). Potatoes. Smothering Parent has a point. Lots of hanging out around door jambs. Kids make poor food choices. The US and Canada each celebrate Thanksgiving but the reasons behind each are different. Family=CHAOS. More Family=CHAOS^2.

 **Note:** Thank you for your reviews! They keep me stoked. : DD And thank you guys for your concern. Family visited...and gave me a cold :C Aaaand I had to split this chap because it kept lasting. XD

 **Chapter 5: Captain Pilgrim America**

* * *

Arthur sat up and glanced around-but the child's slippers and robe were still slung over a chair so he hadn't gone down for breakfast.

Perhaps, the loo?

He laid back down and watched the clock; ten minutes passed, but the child didn't reappear…

He lasted another two minutes before he began actively searching the house.

Alfred wasn't loitering in a hallway or downstairs.

Only Texas was in the kitchen, barely cognizant and stirring a bowl-conversation was impossible...and there was no note on any of the counter space.

He flitted back upstairs, but the child still wasn't there. His heart began to beat loudly in his ears and his breath hitched.

He needed to find him.

He moved down the hall and unceremoniously flung the next door open.

Empty.

"Oi?" Reilley called from across the way in the w.c. "What'chu doin'?"

He leaned against the doorframe with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

"Have you seen Alfred?"

"Hrm…." he pondered as he scrubbed lazily-toothpaste foam accumulating in his mouth. "Don' think so…why?"

Arthur moved onto the next room-scaring the daylights out of Alistair as the door slammed against the wall. With a shout of surprise, he toppled out of bed in a tangle of blankets.

Arthur ignored Alistair's swearing and Reilley's guffaws as he demanded, "Alfred, have you seen him this morning?"

"No."

Arthur abruptly made for the third door.

"Hold on now, this is getting out of hand" Alistair insisted as he scrambled after Arthur.

"Albion! Tha's enough!" Scotland growled as he grabbed his younger brother's shoulder, but the Englishman wouldn't be detained and turned the knob.

"You're goin' ter drive us all mad if you kee-"

"I can't find hi-"

"Good! He needs a moment to himself!"

Arthur stared at him incredulously.

"Damn it man, yeh can't be with him every moment. Ye'll drive him away. Really now, what're yeh plannin' on doin'? Gonna get a baby carrier and strap him to your chest are you? Never let him have any sense of priva-"

North snickered appreciatively, "Aye, ye gonna get a baby monitor and-"

Scotland gave him a hard stare, "Get your arse back over there, 'fore you drip."

"But-"

"Nothin' to do with yeh. Get your arse-"

"Get _**your**_ arses out of my doorway" Wales demanded coldly from the darkened bedroom.

Alistair glared into the room for a full beat and then muttered, "Fine."

He dragged Arthur back into the hall.

"Shut the door."

"What am I, the maid?" Scotland shut the door nonetheless and then turned back to Arthur "Yeh can't _**make**_ him stay. He'll resent you if yeh try."

"He isn't in the house." Arthur focused as best he could and clutched at his chest "He isn't near...I can sense...I can sense that."

Alistair gave a long suffering sigh, "Maybe he's in the garden."

Arthur checked again.

He wasn't.

Arthur began pacing; checking the counters again for a note. He was about to grab his cellphone and make a call when-

"Pathetic," Alistair sneered.

Arthur glared, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Your version of childcare involves leaving a four year old to figure out how to cross a river by himself!"

"Yeah, I'm such a goddamned ogre. But yeh learned didn't ya? Ya learned how to read a map that day and where the bridges were."

They gave one another a hard stare.

"I'm putting the kettle on!" Alistair bellowed.

There were several requests from upstairs.

"What d'you want Arthur? Earl Grey, maybe? Laced with a little something extra to make you relax?"

The front door opened and closed.

"See? Just needed a little fresh air and…"

Scotland went a bit gray because Alfred was tromping into the kitchen, his arms laden with plastic bags filled with groceries.

They shared a glance: How…? Did he ride his bike? Or take a cab?

"Can I stop stirring now?" Texas whined; his glasses were slightly askew and his open bathrobe revealed a frayed undershirt and boxers promoting American football.

Alfred walked over, setting his bags down on the table. He dug his keys out of his pocket and hung them in their place.

Alfred then peered into Tex's bowl.

"Dammit Tex, I told you to whip the frosting. Whip it man! I thought you were mucho...mucho.." he scratched his head thoughtfully, "'caliente?' That mean's tough, right?"

"No. And don't ever use that with people, it means...something else entirely."

"...is it naughty?"

"Al."

"Is it?"

"I'm gonna keep stirring and you're gonna drop it."

"Fiiiiine."

"Alfred" Arthur stated, his tone hardening.

The boy didn't bother turning to face him, "What?"

"Alfred?" His tone sharpened.

"Whaaaat?"

The boy looked over with a sullen expression and dark circles under his eyes, "Dude, I ain't got time for twenty questions-and I'm no Sherlock Holmes so tell me."

"How did you get to the store?"

He rubbed his eyes tiredly "Whaddya mean how? I grabbed my keys and…" he stiffened as his brain fully turned on-realizing he was now in a tough spot.

"Idgit" Scotland shook his head.

"Alfred."

He refused to make eye contact as he emptied his groceries, studying the ingredients list on a bag of marshmallows, "...I got a lot of stuff...I need to do...so if you'll please clear out of my kitchen, I'd really-"

"Look at me."

Alfred fussed with his groceries.

"Al-"

He looked over with a sharp glare, "I obeyed all the rules of the road and nobody was hurt. I don't wanna hear "what if" scenarios."

Arthur frowned but before he could reply, Alistair beat him to it.

"I vouched for you...when we couldn't find you. I thought you'd gone out for a bit of air. I thought you were more responsible than this. And now I am embarrassed; you've made fools of us both."

"..."

Alfred's gaze tentatively slid over to see Alistair's flat expression and then hastily looked down. He hugged a tube of Pringles, took a big breath, and released it-at a loss of what to say.

"Am I done yet?" Texas blearily.

Alfred took that as his exit strategy-focusing his whole attention on his brother and blatantly ignoring his other relatives.

As Alistair poured two cups of tea before filling the kettle with more water (for Reilley and Rhys's selections) he grumbled, "God, your boy is stubborn. I'm not going to get an apology, am I?"

Arthur smiled warily, "No."

* * *

When Arthur exited his guestroom, pulling his vest straight with one hand and toweling his hair dry with the other-the pleasant aroma of food wafted by nose.

He found Alfred in the kitchen, looking thoroughly harassed; his hair was standing every which way, his sweater was askew, the apron on him was too large and kept sliding and bunching oddly...and there  
was a rather wild look in his eyes.

There were also stepstools...everywhere. He counted no less than eight in this one room stationed in strategic areas-like high mounted cupboards and the stove and the harder to reach second oven...where a large turkey was roasting.

The counter was divided between various projects. Supplies for several different pies were in one area, craft sticks and caramel blocks were in another, several small pumpkins were lined up near an edge, there was a basket brimming with corn, and a great bushel of apples sat in the center of the organized chaos like a lord surveying his domain.

Arthur felt his jaw drop as he focused on Alfred's current task; he was piping stripes of icing on…

Arthur stifled a gasp.

Those.

 _Those._

 _ **Those!**_

Were.

Scones!

He felt his heart flutter.

He was SO proud.

It was high time his boy embraced his heritage.

Texas shuffled in behind him, dressed and now fully awake,"Damn. He must've forgot. He told me he wasn't gonna make those this year what with all you dropping in. He didn't wanna deal with Europeans badmouthing his pumpkin scones."

Arthur sidled over to the plate for a better look.

Pumpkin…

Americans certainly liked adding pumpkin to everything during the holidays: from coffee and cake to candles and air fresheners to table runner paper weights.

Seemed to think it festive once autumn was upon them. The other months of the year they completely forgot about the gourd.

Alfred nodded approvingly at his handiwork.

Arthur shook his head in amusement; Yes, the scones looked like tooth decay with Alfred's liberal amount of icing...

And yet…

He smiled.

He'd be sure to have one with his next cup of tea.

"Al-ack what are you-"

"Breakfast of Champions!" the child insisted.

"It most certainly is not! Not breakfast at all!" Arthur squawked. "Here, if you're hungry I'll make you something. I know! It's been a while since you've had porrid-"

The child gave him a flat look as he stuck the icing tip into his mouth and squeezed the piping bag.

"You're going to rot your teeth!" Arthur chided and reached for bag of sugar.

The boy whined and dodged his father's hands.

And so began an impromptu game of chase on the ground floor that only ended when Arthur miscalculated how slick the wood floor was in the living room and he slipped. Alistair and Reilley who'd come down by this time, took it as a cue to dogpile him.

From his spot on the bottom, Arthur could do nothing but watch Alfred climb on top, flash him a smile, and finish the frosting.

* * *

Arthur prodded at his IHOP pancakes-they were much too thick in his opinion and the serving size… good lord.

Still…

As he eyed all the happy families eating together, he couldn't help feeling envious. Particularly of the ones with young children.

Despite the chaos surrounding it, his breakfast with Roanoke on Halloween had been wonderful and he found himself wanting to repeat the experience somehow.

There were several squeals and giggles along with soft corrective voices instructing "smaller bites sweetie" and "napkin honey."

He sighed; he had a child who should've been indulging in a fattening, sugary, ridiculous "funny face" pancake...or three.

He sighed-unable to break loose from his sense of melancholy.

Alfred had shooed them all out of the house with a pushbroom-stating that he had things he needed to accomplish and they were all slowing him down. He'd even had the audacity to tell England they could play more tomorrow while waiting in an uber Black Friday line.

And then he slammed the door. And wasn't that horribly reminiscent? The door...his hard 'this is how it must be' tone...the hard blue gaze of self-righteous determination...

He'd half expected to hear Patrick Henry's speech rubbed in his face by his boy a second time.

They boy had flat out refused to negotiate with him...and was now ignoring his texts.

Arthur tried not to focus on the blond toddler in the booth next to them. Or the father smiling cheerfully at his offspring.

 _That baby leaning into your hand now, will soon come to shove you away_ , Arthur thought morosely.

Still, Texas had remarked earlier that it was perfectly "normal" behavior for Alfred to force people out and that his brother must be going "soft"...as he usually preferred a pitchfork to get his point across.

Meanwhile, Scotland was still grumbling over hypothetical hotel rates and Alfred's lack of hospitality:"Ack, he needs to know that he's a Kirkland. There's a pecking order and he's at the bottom. No, it's not fair but tha's life for you."

Texas was eating an omelet with just a fork while listening on the phone.

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the poor etiquette, he'd benefit from a few lessons as well.

Texas set the phone down and looked around the table, "Okay, Molossia and Guam have met up at the airport and they'll be taking a cab over. So we're gonna chill at some outlet stores, so they can meet up with us. Haven't heard from Canada yet. Now lemme just call Al and give him a heads up in case they're too afraid to risk it-"

He took another hearty bite, chewed swallowed, dialed the number and "Hey Al! We-"

" _NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO ENTER THIS HOUSE UNTIL 5PM!"_ was the loud immediate response and then the line went dead.

"...well" Texas coughed and addressed the table "I reckon y'all heard him, so decide amongst yourselves on what task you would prefer to do after Guam and Molossia have joined us. Lemme throw ya a few easy ones as an example: we can visit some fancier stores and y'all can get a headstart on Christmas or we can catch a movie or if y'all feel artsy we can find a gallery or museum or whatever."

"The rest of you can do what you will," Arthur set his utensils on his plate. "But I must return to the house. He needs hel-"

"I am sorry, and regretfully must inform you that _**that**_ is NOT one of the viable options today."

Arthur's eyebrows twitched in irritation.

Texas sighed, "I know, I know. It's tough being on the sidelines. But he'll steamroll you, if you get in the way."

While the others were shopping in a candy boutique waiting for the other nations to arrive, Arthur quietly phoned a taxi. When he spied it in the window, he handed the rental car's keys to Wales.

Oddly enough, Wales didn't put up a fight. Though he did sigh and give Arthur a look which he ignored. It just wasn't good for Alfred to be under so much stress.

The ride back to the house was fairly uneventful though he'd wished the driver wasn't playing Christmas music quite so soon.

After paying the driver who gave him a rather sour expression, when he didn't receive a large tip, Arthur briskly walked to the front door. It was decked with an autumn wreath befitting the holiday and the generic doormat had been switched out for a festive one that read: "Give Thanks For All Blessings."

Upon entering the house, he immediately took notice of how the chandelier in the entrance had been decorated along with the nearby fireplace with loops of harvest garlands.

There was instrumental music playing and Arthur was just beginning to think he'd overreacted.

Perhaps Alfred didn't need help…

Perhaps his dramatic behavior was all a clever ploy to have the house to himself for several hours, when he heard...crying.

Goodness, was he hurt? Had something boiled and spat? Had he fallen while decorating?

He hurried into the parlor and found Alfred on the chair in the furthest corner dressed as a...Pilgrim?

Yes, the boy was dressed in a stereotypical Pilgrim costume. He'd seen some during October but...

He blinked at the wide brim hat, the black shirt, the short trousers, the large white collar and white stockings...beneath an ill fitting orange apron with flour stains.

"N-no...I understand" Alfred sniffled into his cellphone. "If you're sick, than this would be no fun. No. No. I'm NOT crying" he insisted as he wiped at his eyes "I just cut up garlic...I mean onions! And-and maybe I got some in my eyes. And that's why I sound that way. No. No. It's fine. I mean yeah, it stings but-Huh? Uh...yeah...the evaluation went fine." He scrubbed his eyes harder "Yup. It went good er well. Yeah. I was amazing. Yeah...yeah they were all...impressed. Get better. Yeah. Kay. I will. Love you too. Bye Momi."

Alfred ended the call and set his phone down on the end table.

It hurt more than he expected, hearing Alfred trying to save face. Particularly when he knew full well from Alfred's own admission the whole evaluation had been an utter disaster.

Just as Arthur took a step forward, a timer went off and Alfred raced to the kitchen.

Arthur hurried after him and then froze in the doorway as he caught sight of...France...in the boy's kitchen...at the stove.

A wave of shock and hurt and anger swept over him, he'd been shooed out this morning and yet France had been welcome-what the bloody hell-

"Ack! What are you doing? NO! Stay away from there!" Alfred shrieked. "I told you NO. Get away, get away! You're ruining my mashed potatoes-"

Francis wrinkled his nose, "It will be bland if I don't add some cheese to-"

"No stop it! This is a traditional AMERICAN Thanksgiving and I don't need you Frenchifying it! I-gah-dammit Mattie NO! I don't want the turkey to have a maple-bacon glaze so stop that!"

"Your nation is a melting pot, no?" Francis inquired-raising an eyebrow.

Mathieu gave a hard frown, "I didn't get to celebrate Thanksgiving, I was preoccupied looking for-"

"Yeah well, you put your Thanksgiving in a weird month. October is for Halloween!"

"My Thanksgiving is different from yours-it has to do with various settlers English and French as well as my own people giving thanks for-"

"November is for Thanksgiving!"

"Mine isn't limited to" he gestured at Alfred's outfit "Pilgrims."

"December is for Christmas!"

"Oh come now, Amerique-surely you can share with your brother who did so much to help in recovering you from-"

"I don't DO guilt! These arms won't be twisted! And NO! Cuz we _**already**_ share tons of stuff! We share a continent. We share a border. We share July! We share two oceans. We share Arthur. We share a face! This Thanksgiving is mine dammit. Now get out! Nobody's s'posed to be here while I'm prepping! You're doing everything wrong! Go away! Come back at 5 o'clock!"

"What a tantrum!" Francis laughed "Look at how red you've gotten! Mon petit lapin en colere!"

"Don't call me petite!" Alfred roared and reared back a little foot-giving the Frenchman a hard kick to the shins.

"Alfred!" Mathieu gasped appalled.

Francis swore and made to grab at him when-

"That is ENOUGH!" Arthur announced from his spot in the doorway.

"Angleterre!" France gaped "What are-"

"France, Mathieu, return at 5 as your invitation stipulated."

His boots clacked authoritatively as he entered the room. Sometimes it was just too easy to fall back into the role of "Empire." Particularly, when one of his own was in distress.

Both frowned and looked ready to object, but Arthur would have none of it, "It is not up for negotiation and your antics are delaying the efforts of our host."

He gave a stern look of disapproval.

They both seemed a bit embarrassed by that as they looked around the kitchen and likely found it to be in more disarray than when they first entered it.

"We were just trying to help" Mathieu murmured giving him wide violet eyes.

Arthur kept his arms crossed and would not be persuaded. The Frenchman looked ready to argue until-

"Ruined my potatoes" Alfred mourned from his spot on a stepladder by the stove.

The pitiful tone made Francis wilt and he tugged Mathieu along, assuring they would return at the designated time. The moment they were out of sight, Arthur immediately heard them grumbling in French.

Something about "taste."

"He added waaay too much cheese" Alfred mumbled as he lifted a spoon of the yellow mush.

"I thought you liked cheese, Pet?"

"Well yeah, but now it's wrong! I don't use cheese for _Thanksgiving_ potatoes. I use chives!"

Aha. A perfectionist. Trust Alfred to race into battle with haphazardly thought out plans but to overplot a holiday.

Though...it was interesting how invested he seemed in this...almost as obsessed as his people had been about Halloween...

Something prickled at the back of his mind and he thought harder.

Samhain…festival for the dead…a day of open portals for supernatural creatures...all of which evolved into All Hallow's Eve…

And Alfred already had a deep connection with that holiday...or...parts of it.

Samhain also marked the end of the harvest season…and was a time for remembrance particularly of family and friends who'd passed on.

It was also a time for feasting...and celebrating plenitude.

Arthur glanced at a cornucopia stuffed with fruit and squash.

The way Alfred put such effort into everything...

There was something more to it...

Meanwhile, Arthur's early settlers (he and Alfred's "Pilgrims") had celebrated their first supposed Thanksgiving over a weeklong period and while there had been sport and food, the focus of the Pilgrims had often been prayer rather than pleasure.

Whereas, now that Arthur stopped to think about it...the way Alfred seemed to celebrate Thanksgiving was surprisingly...pagan.

Samhain…

Arthur blinked…

Had he _**split**_ Samhain? Into two days nearly a month apart? Halloween and...Thanksgiving?

It made Arthur recall how Yule and Christmas had been fitted together. The lengths they went to preserve magic rituals...

Yes; Arthur was certain of it now. This was an important day-he was glad he hadn't allowed anyone to deter him from assisting the boy.

The child likely didn't know it, but the more magic users one involved in a ritual, the more powerful the effect would be.

"I mean...I guess I can put this in Tupperware and eat it on a different day...but we can't have this tonight."

"I see. Do you have more potatoes?"

"Yeah...but...my pies are gonna be done really soon and...I still have my apples."

"I'll wash and skin the pot-"

"N-no, don't skin them completely. Leave just a bit on and-and then-"

Arthur gave a brisk nod, "Very well."

Alfred stared "O-okay." He blinked as if he hadn't expected to have his instructions heeded. No doubt after dealing with a stubborn France and Canada (who from the looks of it had been double teaming him) he was feeling mistrustful, "Y-yeah...if you can do that..."

"I'm also going to give a call to your uncles."

"No I-"

"Am I right in inferring that you're behind schedule?"

There was a miserable nod.

"I'm calling them and they will do as YOU instruct."

Arthur didn't flinch at all as Alfred eyed him seriously.

Several beats passed, and Arthur was tempted to ask if this had become a staring contest when Alfred abruptly thrust his pinky finger out: "You gotta...promise!"

He linked fingers.

"I promise."

He made the call.

* * *

"How is it that I always get potato duty?" Reilley groused as he continued mashing the vegetables in his pot. "Kind've offensive really. All the tasks to choose from and I have to do the mash-"

Scotland sighed as he dipped another apple into caramel, "If you don't shut yer gob, I'll switch tasks with yeh, and I'll mash yer head."

Reilley frowned; he remembered when the tuber first came over. Spain had boasted that it was a miracle vegetable, but the English had been suspicious of it-since it grew underground (and could possess "satanic" side effects). And who better to test it out on than ol' Eire.

At first it had been a boon; could be grown in a small area of land, liked the Irish climate, and could feed his people well...at least until that damned blight came.

He started to sing "The Fields of Athenry" but stuttered to a stop when Wales gave him a dark look from the chopping block. It wasn't that he looked that intimidating-with his puffy eyes and his runny nose courtesy of the onions. But he had a great knife and that was reason enough to quiet down.

He looked over to see Arthur folding napkins elegantly into wine goblets.

He felt his eyebrow twitch.

Here the rest of them were practically scullery maids and Arthur made himself upper staff.

Arthur must've felt an angry stare on him, because he looked up then and slitted green eyes dared him to make a comment.

Challenge accepted.

"So then" Reilley inquired "Arthur said France is coming?"

Predictably, Arthur stiffened and Scotland and Wales groaned.

"Ack, maybe we should serve everything on paper plates instead. The clean up will be easier-ya can count on that Gaul getting Albion all riled up-"

"Yeah...Mattie invited him" Alfred muttered from where he was perched on the top of the counter arranging dahlias, chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and snapdragons into a centerpiece for the dining table. "Which is One."

"Hm?"

"One. Like I told Arthur, there's always two people who just show up. He's One. And now I just gotta wait for Two…" He sighed "I wish Hawaii was coming…"

"Oh? What's that? She won't be coming?" Arthur inquired.

Reilley and Wales shared a look. That was a staged line, if they'd ever heard one.

"She caught something and she doesn't wanna get us sick."

"I see" Arthur called as he went back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room toting glasses. "Does she usually help you set up?"

"Huh?" Alfred spared him a distracted glance "No. Why?"

Arthur paused and frowned, "Hmph. So they all just appear like locusts then to eat you out of house and home.

"Dude, it's harvest time! Harvest means feasting! I told you this is my holiday, I do everything. If I host something I do everything. I _want_ to do everything…"

Everything? Surely he didn't mean that regarding his 4th of July parties as well? Reilley cringed at the thought of undertaking such a huge event alone.

Arthur had apparently had the same thought because he was staring rather intently at the child.

On noticing Arthur's intense stare, Alfred blushed rather heavily, "I'm only accepting your help this time because of extenuating circumstances being what they are. A-And it's hard to get France outta your house...when you're under four feet tall."

"Indeed" Arthur agreed flatly.

Alfred then busied himself with making his final touches. He clapped his hands once in delight as he finished. And then began looking around-no doubt contemplating how the hell he was going to manage moving the heavy crystal vase into the dining room.

Arthur beat him to the task, "Where shall I set it?"

"Oh...um...in the…in the middle…"

They all waited for the "Please" that should've accompanied that statement.

"The _middle_ middle" Alfred elaborated when Arthur didn't move-apparently thinking he hadn't been clear enough "Ya know between the two baskets of rolls."

Realizing he wasn't going to get a "Please," Arthur sighed resignedly and set off.

Alfred followed with a candle lighter.

Deciding he needed a stretch, Reilley turned the stove knob to low heat.

He sauntered after his nephew-ignoring the angry cries of "Lazy bog-trotter! I'll let it burn!"

"No ye won't."

"Ack...damn you."

Reilley leaned against the door jamb and observed father and son.

When Arthur noticed the little one had to stand on a chair to reach the candles, he offered his help.

"No," Alfred clutched the device "I have to do it."

To anyone else it would've sounded like a spoiled child obsessing over elevator buttons and yet...there was such a genuine sense of urgency…

Arthur had commented earlier, when there'd been dissent among his brothers (Because really? Who wanted to spend an afternoon being bossed around by their baby nephew?), that Thanksgiving would help replenish Alfred's magic.

How could any of them refuse in light of that...especially when America's magic was so diminished that only England could reliably sense him.

Reilly knew it made Scotland and Wales particularly nervous. Alistair was still worried that Alfred could go out the way Mum had. Wales worried over how Alfred's powers would manifest themselves if he wasn't at tiptop condition when they started training him.

Both reasonable fears; their nephew's magic supply was starved and there was no way of knowing how his body and powers would react.

Yule would do him such good. If they could just ensure the boy would spend the winter with them. Honestly, if Alfred was worried about Arthur nagging him the whole time-he could rest easy. There was no way he and Alistair were going to let Arthur monopolize all of his time.

Besides, who could teach better hexes than them?

Alfred hopped off the chair and spun several times-twirling from one foot to the other. He hopped and tapped his feet and-abruptly remembered that Arthur was still standing beside him.

Reilley would admit that some of Arthur's actor skills were put to good use then.

Arthur managed to feign complete unawareness-the way characters on stage could be totally oblivious to a plot unfolding three feet away; his whole attention was entirely invested in adjusting that vase to the best possible position.

The child sighed in relief, made two last dance-like moves spun one last time, and darted back into the kitchen with enough momentum that he easily knocked Reilley flat on his arse.

"Oops. Sorry, Uncle Reilley."

"M'alright, just" he coughed "a bit winded."

He glanced over the top of his nephew's golden hair to see Arthur frowning in concentration. He dipped his fingers into the flower vase, muttered something quietly and flicked the water at the spot Alfred had been dancing in a moment prior.

Several bright blue sparkles shone and faded.

The brothers caught one another's eye.

Yes. Definitely a ritual.

"Reilley?"

The Irishman eased himself up just as Arthur leaned over and hoisted Alfred up onto his hip….and then stepped over his fallen brother.

Arsehole.

He could've spare a hand!

"Oho, thank you for your help up!" Reilley grumbled.

His brother continued smoothly on, but Alfred seemed to have an epiphany.

"OH!" He wrapped his little arms around Arthur's neck in an affectionate squeeze, "Thank you for your help today!"

He rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, "...for a while there, I wasn't sure how I was gonna get it handled…"

Reilley chewed his lip as he pulled himself to his feet.

Well, that was no good. No good at all. It was like the boy didn't know how to ask for help; even when he realized he needed it.

* * *

Scotland fiddled with his tie and drummed his fingers on the open door, "Just...get your arse in, yer letting a draft in."

"No, I gotta wait til 5" Texas insisted from his spot on the porch. "Them's the rules."

"Texas."

"4:59!"

The Texan's watch beeped a minute later and he bounded over the threshold: "HOWDY PILGRIM!"

Alfred flew down the stairs-leaping off the last few into his brother's arms.

Texas spun him around twice before setting him down.

So dramatic.

Alistair noticed Arthur in the hallway with a particularly sour expression. He chuckled; his little brother could get so jealous.

Alistair continued to hold the door open, welcoming a snappily dressed Guamanian man in his early thirties and an equally dressed up Molossia...who was still sporting sunglasses despite the sun setting over an hour ago.

He recognized the foul mouthed delinquent as one of Sealand's little friends. He was such a rude little blighter it was a huge surprise to watch him thrust a cornucopia brimming with presents to America.

"Aww, dude, you didn't have to do this. I mean, Xmas is just around the corner."

The young man bit his lip, embarrassed, "T-to ensure your recovery goes smoothly."

"Oh wow, you got all my favorites; candy, manga, beef jerky," he gasped "A scary movie, popcorn, a yoyo! C'mere dude. You're so getting a hug!"

The lad turned bright red but accepted the embrace-even though it meant taking a hat brim to the eye.

"Thank you, Molossia."

The teen nodded mutely, and when Alfred turned away to welcome Alaska and Stuart, Alistair swore he saw the brunette wipe away a tear beneath his shades.

Texas locked the front door after Francis and Mathieu strolled in. They presented Alfred with a large box of chocolates and a plastic Captain America Shield which apparently lit up and made "battle sounds."

Alistair could admit it; they were good. They knew how to smooth ruffled feathers-Alfred had been ecstatic with their offering and was now hugging Molossia's cornucopia and their shield tightly to his chest.

Captain Pilgrim America was just leading his party into the dining room, where everyone was swift to compliment him on the festive decorations, when the Intruder Alarm went off.

"Papi's here!" Texas announced as he disarmed the system by punching in the code. He returned to the table giving a thumbs up at the beautiful arrangement of pies displayed on the far end when he heard footsteps thunder down the stairs, "¡Buenas noches, Pap-GAH!"

"And that makes Two!" Alfred announced smugly to Arthur.

Because out from behind Spain jumped...Mexico! She was dressed in an azure dress coat with a bright, multicolored scarf with an Aztec pattern.

Spain smiled obliviously to his son's obvious horror "Papi thought it would be good for you two to see each other BEFORE Christmas-"

"¡Oye estupido! Papi told me you'd been hiding like a yellow bellied rose of Te-"

"Ahhh, it's the Devil!" Texas immediately picked up a glass of water, dipped his fingers in it and began flicking it at Mexico while apparently praying in Spanish.

She shrieked as the water hit her in the face.

"It's working! Gotta cleanse the evil! Al! Do we have sage? Gotta burn some sage!"

"TEJAS!" Spain yelped aghast snatching the glass out of his hands "Do not treat your hermana like-"

"Chiqueado!"

"Now, now mis hijos" Spain grabbed a lunging Mexico who was trying to snatch her brother's glasses off his face, while simultaneously preventing his son from pouring a gravy boat on her head. "This is not how we act indoors."

"I try to do something nice and show up to your stupid party-"

"Ya wanna do something nice, stay outta my backyard!"

"That land was mine!"

"That land _**is**_ mine!"

"Traitor!"

"Keep me a buffer state!"

"Mejico! Tejas! Settle down!"

When that did little to curb their hostilities, he hissed "Silencio."

The dark tone got them both to immediately shut up. Antonio sighed and pulled the chair out; nodding approvingly as Mexico primly sat down and let her ex-colonizer push her in.

Antonio turned to find Texas gone.

He'd marched himself over to the head of the table beside Alfred.

Spain's shoulders fell and he sighed, "Tejas..."

The lad was now on the opposite side of the table as far from his family as possible.

"Tejas, come here. Papi will sit in the middle."

Texas huffed and sat down.

"Teeeejaaaas. How will Papi speak with you if you're so far away?"

Alistair glanced at his family members feeling rather proud. It wasn't often that they were the least dysfunctional family in the room.

Unfortunately, the happy moment was fleeting as Molossia and Arthur faced off for the remaining seat on Alfred's left.

Wales pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced over to Scotland in exasperation.

Scotland nodded. Aye, it was going to be a long night.

Wales then looked to America, "I'm sorry, the seating arrangement is ruined. No one is paying attention to the name markers."

"Yeah…don't feel too bad Strawberry. I try it every year."

* * *

Read and Review Please : D


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Fullmetal Alchemist. Or the British Museum. Or the University of Oxford's Ashmolean Museum. Or Hungry Hungry Hippo. Or Walmart. Or STAR WARS. Or Costco.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Prayer. Parents. Siblings. Family draaaama. Melodrama. Swearing. Swearing in languages I'm not fluent in. Christmas-ness (which [hohoho spoiler] will eat up a significant amount of the plot/setting sooo if that's your kryptonite...Go...Now...Be freeee!) Texting one person while talking to someone else is rude (The person in front of your face should take precedence). Reilley DOES like potatoes. Scotland should've opted for the window.

 **Note:** Wow, still can't believe we've cracked 200! Woohoo! Thank you sooo much for your reviews! Reviews feed my motivation the way nothing else can! I do read and reread them whenever I feel stuck. Plus, I love knowing which parts made you LOL. Quite a few of you mentioned Thanksgiving flashbacks. Sunsetonmars: that's funny! You were just a 7 year old who wanted perfection! When I was kid on Thanksgiving, I sometimes physically hid to avoid my younger cousins. I could fit under those little round three legged decorator tables. Wait it out 'til mealtime. Ah, yes. Family, Holidays, and Chaos: we just can't escape them, can we? That's what makes it memorable. XDDD

 **Chapter 6: For All The Wrong Reasons**

* * *

Arthur had planned on sitting next to Alfred, but neither Molossia or Texas would budge...despite Arthur's name being very clearly labeled-marking his spot at the table.

And he didn't want to make a scene after all the hard work Alfred had put into this event.

Arthur frowned as he settled down on Texas' right side-barely avoiding the young man's elbow as he jerked with barely restrained rage.

Alfred cleared his throat.

But the chatter among his guests continued.

He no longer possessed the loud brassy voice of his older body.

The boy frowned. "Hello? I...I have a speech. Hellooo?"

He tried tapping his glass with a spoon, but it didn't interrupt the tirade of Spanish swearing volleying back and forth.

"Hey...guys?" Alfred whined and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. "Guys, shut up. I wrote this out special."

Arthur stood up, "Please assist our host with your silence."

"¡Pinche idiota!"

"¡Hijo de puta!"

He tried to catch Spain's eye. He needed to get his children under control, but the Spaniard was pouring himself some wine and tuning it out. Arthur's expression soured considerably. So _this_ was Spain's parenting style...no wonder they were so...unruly.

"Ahem!"

Nothing.

"AHEM!"

His fists clenched and he felt a vein throb, "OI YOU LOT, PIPE DOWN!"

Something about a Cockney accent could get people to shut up…

At least for a moment.

"How eloquent."

"Belt up, France."

"Blaireau-"

"Alfred," Arthur cut in "your speech."

"Er...right. Um...If everyone would please hold hands and stand for a moment,"

Alistair and Reilley groaned and begrudgingly got to their feet.

Alfred took a deep breath, "We thank you heavenly father, for providing us with this meal, under this roof, for this company. We stand in a blessed ring forged with family and friends. And we give thanks for all the gifts given-all are great whether they be large or small.

Harvest is the time where we reap what is sown and we hope that what we gather is good and plenty for all. We give thanks to the hard work in planting; to the toilers who go out in all weather to tend their crops, to their dedication and perseverance. And we gather now to celebrate the generosity of the land with our kin here. Thank you."

A hum went through their hands like an electric circuit. Arthur caught eyes with Wales who gave a nod of approval. Arthur felt a flush of pride.

 _Well done Alfred; a rudimentary blessing, but a blessing nonetheless._

"...ya can all sit down now" the child stated.

"Can we let go of hands?"

"Fiiine. Okay, soooo some of y'all are new. Now, before we eat, we have one more tradition. We're gonna go around and everyone is going to say three things they're thankful for-"

"Pffft."

"Yes. We. Are. Mexico. And the longer you drag your feet, the longer it is til chow time." Alfred frowned at her. "This is my quesadilla."

"Casa" Texas corrected.

"Whatever. It's mine. And this is what we do. You will say three genuine honest-to-god things you are thankful for about the person on your right."

Mexico eyed Spain, "And what if it's impossible?"

"You get to leave…"

"Through the window" Texas finished with a maliciously gleeful smile.

"¡¿Qué?!"

Arthur choked on his sip of wine.

That got everyone's attention and a buzz of alarm had all their mouths chattering as they voiced their shock and distress.

"Yup" Alfred announced with smug satisfaction.

"Zut alors!"

"Whoa now, repeat that, eh?"

"Did I stutter, Mattie ?" Alfred smirked.

"Ooooh," Reilley commented "I _**like**_ it. An element of danger. Who's the judge?"

"Alaska."

The Inuit man gave a solemn nod.

"Goodbye Scot, we both know you'll never make it!" Reilley crowed.

"Goddammit! I never shoulda sat next to ya, ye overgrown leprechaun."

"Heheheh!"

"Ack... well...you're sitting next to Guam. You don't know a damn thing about him so-"

"Ha! He's smell refreshingly like coconuts, he's a snappy dresser, and I haven't heard him make a single complaint since I met him at the door. So he's obviously, wonderful, amiable company."

"...ack...fuck. Just...fuck."

"I'll start" Alfred loudly called in a singsong voice "Tex."

The brunet turned to him with a smile.

"Big bro. You. Are. Awesomeness. I am so thankful for what a good sport you can be; cuz there aren't many people in this world who will play Hungry Hungry Hippo with me at 3 in the morning and not be angry when I cheat...and THEN will come with me to the WalMart in the bad part of town because it's the only one that has the TV dinners I like best." He twisted his hands, "You're generous with me; you always share whether it's nachos at the movies or if I wanna take your bike for a spin or...or...or when we were so poor. You remember? When we were soooooo poor? We had one fork and one spoon? And you always took the spoon. Dude."

"Ugh."

"You shut up!" Texas hissed which made Mexico roll her eyes.

"You are the unrefuted, longest lasting, bonafide roommate I've ever had."

"I'm winning" Texas squealed.

"Yeah you are! You've clocked in more consecutive years with me than-than anybody!"

"Ha! Longer than all y'all!" Texas grinned and pointed at the rest of the table.

"Barring the Civil War," Canada sniffed.

They both gave their other brother a dirty look.

"Tch. Even so! When the goin' gets tough...I can always turn to you. And you never hold it over me. You...you don't have a blackboard in your head tallying...you...you don't keep score. And that...that means a ton to me Big Brother. So thank you for being you. Kay?"

Alfred took a wavery breath and finished with a shy smile.

"Well shoot, give me a hug!"

"Kay!"

"I'm going to barf" Mexico muttered.

"I'm screwed" Scotland moaned.

"Yeh really are, deathair."

"Goodbye Alistair."

"Ack! Dammit Wales, do you really have to comment?"

"Hwyl fawr."

* * *

Canada had been personally surprised that Texas had been able to talk so positively about Arthur, and that Arthur had managed to compliment Alistair. Though judging by the Englishman's smirk as he spoke, it was largely motivated by the desire of watching the Scotsman squirm when it was his turn.

Alistair had rather desperately asked if he was allowed to take suggestions.

Which had made Alfred's lips purse and his eyebrows twitch-giving him such an eery resemblance to Arthur, that Mathieu couldn't believe none of them had guessed their relation before this last year.

Alaska ruled that he could take two suggestions, but the third statement had to be his own.

With a red face, Alistair haltingly admitted that he appreciated Reilley's talents as a musician. When Reilley took every moment after to rib him about it, Scotland grumbled that he should've opted for the window.

Guam thanked Francis for an array of culinary tips which he now used to please tourists.

Papa was generous-giving Mathieu an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder while he remarked on Canada's steadfast nature, his quiet poise, and his talents in the arts.

Wales had blushed quite a bit as Mathieu promoted his admirable qualities. Rhys was loyal, hardworking, and had a fantastic ear for music.

Surely, it was obvious?

Judging by Alfred's yawn, no it wasn't.

The Welshman was very kind and diplomatic to Mexico-commending her for her willingness to come to this event, her endurance in the face of obstacles, and her impressive dancing skills...which soothed her ego enough to participate.

She summed up her gratitude in one short sentence: "Horseriding, gunmanship, and helping me make tequila."

Which considering the rough start of their history and the fate of her people, was actually rather gracious.

"Monita!" Spain cried in delight, embracing her tightly and rubbing his cheek against hers.

"Get off me, stupid conquistador."

Spain had no difficulty praising Stuart, who just as easily listed Alaska's diligence, sense of responsibility, and ability to organize data as second to none. He cited how they'd worked extensively on an online and over the phone collaboration during America's crisis.

Alaska had looked amused as he appraised Molossia (the youngest historically at their table that night), and then Molossia...

Mon Dieu.

Molossia.

Molossia had gushed over America like a faucet on full blast to the point that Alaska had to intervene or the food would go cold. The teen had grumbled quite a bit as he rolled up his list and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Fine. I'll finish it next year."

As Mathieu started to reach for a basket of corn cobs, he noticed Wales looking at the floor which prompted him to look down.

There... hovering off the floor near his ankles were a multitude of blue sparkles. He glanced to the other end of the table where he saw Alfred's buckle-shoed feet bouncing and swaying like a conductor's hands in a concert.

The blue sparkles rose and then sunk into the floor making the outline of a flower before fading completely.

So then...Thanksgiving was an important date for Alfred after all. No wonder Alfred had been so controlling over how he wanted his holiday. He felt a twinge of guilt that was immediately swallowed by resentment as he straightened up and focused on his brother's side.

Arthur was smiling gently at Alfred as he slathered butter on a roll-nodding indulgently as his brother went off on a loud tangent about his excitement regarding the new impending STAR WARS movie.

Arthur then reached across Texas to set the roll on Alfred's plate, before fetching another one and repeating the process for himself.

Alfred was back to being the golden child of Arthur's universe.

Though perhaps what made it all worse, was that his papa also kept raving over how adorable Alfred was again. And that maybe there was still time to correct his taste buds!

Canada chewed his corn methodically.

France, England, and Guam were currently squabbling over who Alfred should spend Christmas with.

"I'm only 8 hours away and you're 16," Francis reasoned.

"But will he have 80 degree weather and pristine beaches and waterfalls in Paris?" Guam remarked a bit too innocently.

"I think you had me at 80 degrees" Alfred chuckled around a mouthful of drumstick.

Predictably, Arthur frowned. Canada waited for him to admonish America on his poor eating manners, but he didn't.

"And my food will be so goooood" Guam swilled the wine in his glass "I've had enough foreign influences that my cuisine is an artful blend of culinary mastery from around the world. Every meal will be savory."

Papa took that as a challenge and began describing bûche de Noël and holiday pastries that could be selected fresh at the bakery each day or...whipped up in Francis' kitchen. Arthur's knife deliberately screeched against his plate-cutting Francis off and turning the conversation away from food.

"Nothing better than a horse drawn sleigh ride across the snow at Yuletide," Arthur scowled as he worked his knife into the turkey meat.

"Those _**are**_ pretty fun Guam!" Alfred admitted.

"We 'ave zose too and ice rinks!"

"My country estate has a private pond perfect for ice skating" Arthur noted primly.

"Really?"

"Zere are chocolates you can eat with figurines insides! In France!"

Alfred was leaning forward now because he loved toys.

Canada pulled a flask of emergency maple syrup from his breast pocket. The turkey was dry and bland in his opinion. This was necessary.

"Well, we have Christmas crackers!" Arthur injected.

"Pffft. Crackers?" Alfred sneered. "That's lame. I mean, that has to be killer soup, if I'm s'posed to celebrate crack-"

"Nonono. Silly goose. Not...saltines. You snap them and there are prizes inside; hats and toys and jokes and whatnot-"

"Leave out your shoe and Papa Noel will leave you treats and-"

Guam smirked, "I can't decide if a shoe or a sock is worse. They must not know you Alfred. Anything that touches where your feet have been will forever be contaminated-"

"Real heroes have sweaty feet, Guam! That's just how it is. Heroes sweat."

"Yeah!" Molossia supported "He's a hero. So you can shut the fu-"

"Molossia?! Language…"

"Ssss-sorry."

"Bah" Spain waved a dismissive hand "All this talk about Santa or Father Christmas. The Three Wisemen do that, just in January. So Tejas, if you remember from when you were little...I remember when you were little...You were soooo cute mijo. Though you were kind of scared of them...breaking into our house. Remember? You would sleep with Papi? So I could protect you? January 6th! Si...January 6th muy importante. It is Epiphany. So you leave a boot filled with straw and Pa-Three Wise Men will fill it with presents!"

"His _**boot?**_ " Mexico squawked indignantly and slammed her fork down, "He gets to leave out a boot?! You tell me to leave out a slipper!"

"Si, well...mija, it's been over a century. They have to make up for lost time."

"You always baby him," she hissed.

Canada could well understand her frustration as he watched Arthur pour more apple cider for Alfred.

He was glad to have his brother back of course...but did his reappearance have to mean that everyone needed to bend over backwards to please his little brother.

Spain sighed and noticed Guam staring at him.

"¡Hola, Guam! Do you remember me?"

Guam gave him a flat look, "Yes, I remember you."

Spain smiled, "You look well since last I've seen you."

Guam's eye twitched a bit, but he didn't respond.

Alfred tugged on Tex's sleeve, "They've met?"

"I don't doubt it. Papi got around" Texas muttered loudly and rolled his eyes.

Mexico snorted into her yams.

Spain...naturally misunderstood, "Yes, I travelled a lot in those days."

Brother and sister shared a look.

Apparently, while they deeply hated each other's guts, they could briefly team up if it was against Spain.

Spain smiled as they both began taking potshots at him-noting different times he'd messed up and forgotten important dates-when one paused for breath, the other would fill in the blanks.

Spain took another deep sip from his wine glass, "Awww, you see? I knew you missed your hermanito."

"Not a bit!"

"Didn't miss you neither!"

"Didn't miss you more!"

She balled a cloth napkin and hurled it across the table-hitting him in the face.

He made to retaliate with a spoonful of peas but-

"Texas Galtero Jones. Don't you DARE waste food at my table!" Alfred hissed in a dark enough tone that the rest of the party stopped and stared.

Because...cheery happy-go-lucky Alfred...wasn't ever supposed to sound like that.

Maple.

"Sorry" Texas immediately rested the spoon back down.

Mexico started to ridicule her brother's lack of spine when America's intense blue gaze settled on her, and she visibly shuddered.

Canada had to hand it to Arthur. Something about previously being an Empire gave him nerves of steel. Just as the atmosphere was turning heavy and unsettling, he engaged Alfred on the topic of Romantic writers and the different museums honoring them in his country.

Which smoothed Alfred's feathers, though he remarked that if he was going to stroll through a museum he'd rather see swords and armor.

Which pleased Arthur considerably, and he began listing ones they could visit, like the British Museum and the University of Oxford's Ashmolean Museum. Spain and France started to contribute-commenting on museums in their respective countries...which prompted England to talk louder and deliver a hard elbow to Scotland (which he passed along to Northern Ireland) and the three of them began talking up the U.K. in earnest.

Guam decided to just ignore the topic of conversation and began advocating the Pros of sand snowmen versus slush snowmen when Alfred sighed.

"I-I don't wanna lead you guys on, sooo…" he pulled a paper from out of his pocket. "I mean...I know there's been a lot of changes lately. I...I kinda planned on doing this during dessert but...well...I guess this is as good a time as any. I've...well I got this letter a while ago."

Texas froze mid-drink with his eyes bulging.

Canada blinked curiously.

"And I guess it's best, cuz you're all here now-so I won't have to repeat it. I can just get it all done and over with in one go. Guys...you see…I've been meaning to tell-"

"No Al! Don't tell him 'bout Osha!"

Canada gasped in alarm.

Had she escaped?!

The table buzzed with concern.

Had she sent some sort of threat!

What about her?

What had she done now?

Alfred glared at his Southwestern brother who now had his hands over his mouth.

Arthur's green eyes were wide as he demanded, "Wot? W-what's this? Alfred?"

Alfred adjusted his hat, "AHEM! I was just gonna say that while I **_usually_** celebrate Christmas at home. Here. In the good ol' US of A. My-my government approved of me taking time off to chill with England in the U.K. They think it'd be good for me to be out and about after-"

"Alfred, what was he talking about? What's this about Osh-"

"Sooo I won't be in the States for Christmas. I can forward the address if ya wanna send some tangible love. Otherwise we can do a gift exchange when I get ba-"

Arthur reached over and gently, but firmly grasped Alfred's wrist to gain his attention. The Briton swallowed nervously, "Are they having some manner of hearing? You don't need to testify. There's no reason for you to feel pressured to appear. There are plenty of others who can-"

"No, that's not-"

"Is she harassing you? Is she writing you? You don't have to put with this."

"Arthur-"

"Blast! We didn't file a restraining order, did we? Don't worry poppet, I'll handle it and at once."

"No Arthur-"

"Then what is it? What's going on?"

Alfred pulled his hand free and jumped down.

Scotland and Northern Ireland immediately pushed their seats back and stood up-blocking his escape route.

Arthur left his seat and knelt down, "Alfred-"

Alfred stamped a foot in frustration, "You don't understand-"

"Then explain, so I will!"

Alfred glared at Texas.

"Al," Texas murmured aghast, "I'm so sorry."

"Guess mouths are bigger in Texas too!" Guam commented wryly.

"Could never hold a secret to save your life, bocazas."

"Al…."

"What is he talking about? Alfred? What's this about Osha?"

Alfred stared at the adults who were starting to form a ring around him and he just-darted under the table and made his escape to the stairs.

Arthur was in hot pursuit, but apparently from the sound of a door slamming. He wasn't quite quick enough to catch his offspring.

He came back down twenty minutes later, thwarted and miserable.

Canada watched Texas go over to talk with him-arms flailing as he tried to explain...something.

In that time, Francis enlisted Alistair and Reilley to help him serve the desserts and champagne. And Guam was awkwardly patting Molossia's back as he entered the dark depths of teen angst: "I shoulda done somethin. Whyyyy? Why didn't I?"

"Amerique loves sweets. If anything can entice him back down, it will be zis. And we want ze atmosphere to be festive and relaxed. Not. Accusatory."

It was a good plan...at least until Texas received a text.

"Oh noooo."

Scotland peered over his shoulder to read it aloud to the rest of them: "Cannon Testing."

"He still has cannons?" Mexico asked incredulous.

Texas shook his head, "He's heading to his ol' 1800s haunt."

"But he didn't go through the kitchen" Wales murmured. "Is he taking a taxi or-"

Texas slapped his forehead, "Didn't need to, he's got a box in his room with all the spares."

They heard a truck engine roar to life outside and peel out of the driveway.

"Why did no one box him in? It's the holidays. The driveway is s'posed to be a mess of illegal parking," Texas groaned.

Canada immediately tried texting his brother to ask him what the hell he was doing. Driving at his current height and weight was incredibly dangerous!

"Wales" England demanded pushing past France, who very nearly fell into the nearby china cabinet, "Keys!"

Wales threw them and watched his brother sprint out of the house-leaving the front door wide open.

Several beats passed and then-

"Scotland" Wales ordered "Close the door. It's letting a draft in."

" _ **You**_ close the door."

"Alistair."

"Make Eire do it."

"He's still eating."

"Always _**so**_ exciting here" Reilley commented as he took a big bite of mashed potatoes.

* * *

Alfred sniffled as he wandered through his old not-so-abandoned house.

He rubbed his eyes and clutched his violin case. The tromp through the woods and over his fence had exhausted most of the frustration out of him...the way his drive hadn't.

Now he was just...upset and tired...and feeling a little stupid and overly dramatic.

Yup, it was him this year; he was the hot potato.

He'd just...panicked. They'd all ganged up on him and were so much bigger than him…

In that moment, he'd felt so powerless and small and insignificant-

He gulped a breath and then forced it out.

He'd thought that if he could just get away to a nice, quiet place-he could get himself back under control and be back in time for the morning, when they'd pile up and head to Costco for Black Friday deals. He just...needed some solitary "me time" first. Some place isolated. Some place beyond reach. Where time hadn't quite caught up.

His backwoodsy colonial manor was just such a place-a bubble, a kink in time's rope where everything was pretty much how he'd left it in the 1800s. He occasionally dumped crap off there, but the feel of it was the same as it'd been when he'd officially given up on making it a residence in 1816. It'd become a great big time capsule he could visit, play his violin, and get his head straight.

Or had been.

It'd been a shock tramping through the wilderness and stepping into the clearing.

Even though he'd been warned by Texas that Arthur had made a pet project out of his old colonial manor-nothing could've prepared him for how thoroughly his father had dominated the space.

Even under darkness and moonlight, the change was impossible to ignore.

Most of his canons were gone save a few that were stationed ceremonially at the entrance. The surrounding grasses had been cut and his TNT shack was gone.

The shutters had been removed-Alfred would find them inside on a tarp in various stages of being restored.

And his music room…there was all this creepy alchemy chalk shit everywhere. It gave him the heebie jeebies. He didn't dare enter. He'd watched _Fullmetal Alchemist_...he knew what could happen.

There were a few modern generators placed here and there, a bunch of portable lights and flashlights, plastic baskets filled with cleaning supplies, some sleeping bags and a stack of magazines (mostly home repair guides and cooking recipes, but there were a few M rated ones too. Ew. Gross. He tried not to think about those.)

He pulled the letter he'd received a few days ago out of his pocket. His government was giving him the green light for a vacation in the U.K.

In fact, everything was being expedited to the max because they wanted to scrape him off on Arthur for a while. Because they...how did they word it? Ah yes, they wanted him to have "adequate familial support while he focused on his emotional health during this challenging transition." He crumbled up the paper and dropped it. Stomping on it twice to vent some of his residual anger.

They wanted him to show up on Monday and pose for a new passport photo-they were even going to cover his airfare.

He rubbed his nose.

Yeah…

They were pretty much banishing him to Europe to keep him out of the way, while they finalized his demotion.

He'd spend a month in gloomy ol' England while his dad nagged about responsibility, and healthcare, and magic and-

Magic…

He blinked; as if finally viewing it as a real option.

If magic had been responsible for his current situation…

Then...maybe magic could fix everything too!

Maybe if he mastered it all quick, he'd be able to recreate that age spell and everything could be set right again!

Maybe-

"Alfred!"

Dude! He followed him all the way here?!

He instinctively darted into his room and almost slapped his forehead. He could be such an idiot sometimes. He was "hiding" in the most, frickin' obvious spot there was.

Footsteps thundered up the wooden stairs and lantern light spilled in as Arthur entered the room.

"Alfred?" he wheezed "Alfred, are you here?"

Alfred didn't move a muscle. Praying that he wouldn't notice him standing among a cluster of flags.

"Sweet...we need to talk."

If there was still ivy on the back wall under the window, there was an opportunity for escape.

Arthur swore softly under his breath and exited the room. The floorboards creaked as he paced about.

"Alfred I can sense that" he addressed the house "you are here."

Alfred a stab of fear and envy that Arthur could know that. If he had his magic under his command, would be able to know stuff like that?

"Alfred?" Arthur wandered down the hall; opening doors and searching the rooms.

Now or never. He had to get to the window and-

Crack!

He kicked his old globe and it skittered across the floor.

Crap.

He dove across the bed as the footsteps hurried back.

No choice but to hide and hope for the best. He curled up underneath the old, warped rocking chair.

"Alfred!" was announced breathlessly from the doorway.

Don't notice me. Don't notice me. Don't notice me.

He held his breath and prayed harder for him to leave. It used to work under coal grey skies and rustling cornstalks.

"Sweet, I know things are...difficult right now. Talk with me. We'll see what we can do. Love?"

Even with his eyes screwed tightly closed, he couldn't deny the light shining near his face.

Arthur had found him.

The lantern was set down near him and Arthur's knees popped as he knelt.

He settled a large warm hand on Alfred's back, "No need to hide from me…"

The hand left and there was a rustling sound.

Alfred opened his eyes in time to catch Arthur pulling his jacket off. The man draped it over Alfred's shoulders and then settled against the wall, his arms around his knees.

It reminded Alfred of days of sitting across him in an alleyway, waiting for German zeppelins to pass overhead.

"It's a beautiful house," Arthur stated.

Alfred braced himself.

"It's a pity that it was left so neglected."

Yup, there it was; the follow up. Because Arthur could never just pay a compliment.

Alfred bit his lip and murmured, "You changed things around...You just..everywhere."

"Yes, I'm trying to restore the old girl" he gestured around them "I think Kirkland Hall would be a wonderful summer home for us."

Alfred gaped, "H-hey! Where do you get off!? This is my house and I-"

"Not according to the deed."

"But-but-but I pay all the taxes on it!"

"Which is why I'm taking the brunt of the renovation bills."

"Whaddyou even care? You _ **have**_ fancy schmancy houses already! You don't _**need**_ this one!"

Arthur shook his head, "Sweet-"

"No."

"Don't you want this place to look nice?"

Alfred held his breath and choked a bit, "...no."

"No? Why pet? I think indoor plumbing would do her a world of good."

Alfred choked again, this time on a chuckle and immediately scootched further back. No. He couldn't be reeled in so easily. He refused.

Arthur continued, this time much quieter and more sincere: "You put so much hard work into this house, I couldn't bear to see it fall fully into ruin."

"Hmm…"

"I imagine in her day, she was magnificent."

"Yes...she was."

"I'd see her returned to that glory with your help and your blessing."

"..."

"Sweet?"

"I'll think about it...but…" Alfred sighed. He knew they were really just trying to avoid talking about the inevitable. And much as Alfred really didn't want to steer the conversation to Osha especially considering how everyone had reacted. (They totally weren't going to support him being her pen pal.) There was no way he could keep tiptoeing around it.

"Osha…"

"Texas told me."

Alfred stiffened; _dammit Tex, your mouth just kept going a mile a minute!_

"You should've just explained. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Let alone going out into the middle of the woods over."

"Huh?"

Arthur assured, "I keep a dream journal. I find it very useful. Our dreams...are like puzzle pieces and once you solve elements of them you know more about yourself and your environment."

"You...?"

"I think it's good your government has persuaded you to get into the practice."

Alfred blinked.

Arthur ran a hand through his messy hair, "I'm sorry we all jumped to conclusions. Texas thought you were going to talk about your journal. And how we'd all be seeing you with it more often. He (perhaps correctly) thought we weren't ready to hear one of your dreams regarding her. You can always tell me though. Always. I promise."

"Right."

Alfred took that moment to pull his phone out and text his brother to thank him for his damage control ploy.

 _U R Still Awesomeness._

And send.

"Alfred?"

He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"My government wants me to go with you for Christmas."

"I see, well, that won't do at all."

"Huh? I-I thought that you…"

"Make no mistake," Arthur told him seriously "I would very much like you to come. But only if it's what you want as well."

That made his heart flutter nervously.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out. He needed to focus on something else-distance himself from whatever was unfolding nearby.

 _I luv u lil bro & I'm sorry. I screwed up. Come home plz?_

"If I didn't wanna go…"

He sent back to Texas:

 _W/ Dad. B back l8r. Luv u2, s'all good._

He swiftly pocketed the phone since Arthur's eyebrows were starting to twitch and...texting while talking _**was**_ hella rude.

"Sorry, Tex was freaking out. I was letting him know I was safe with you."

Which apparently was the best way to phrase it, cuz Arthur blinked and gave an approving nod, "...yes."

"But...if I...If I didn't wanna go for-for Chri-er for Yule…?"

He had to know all his options in order to not feel fenced in.

Arthur sighed and looked away, "I'd create instructions so you could celebrate Yule adequately here."

"So...you don't have to be in Europe to-"

"No Sweet, we used to celebrate Winter Solstice both here and there when you very young."

"Hmm..."

He didn't have to go...not if he didn't want to.

That lightened the weight in his chest considerably.

Still, if Alfred wanted to master the whole kit and caboodle, he couldn't settle for scraps. He'd need 'Magic Mentors' like his uncles, like Arthur, to learn from.

But dammit that would mean dealing with them for long (likely irritating) periods of time. And the fact that all of them could be snobby show offs...

"I'll let your uncles know, and we can devise some basic rituals for you to complete. The hour difference being what it is...well...I can stay up and walk you through it over the phone if need be."

Alfred hesitantly looked over; Arthur was being so...helpful...though he looked really...sad.

Which made his stomach flop unhappily.

It was a choice between freedom and power. To get more power...he'd have to consent to being under his old man's thumb again...but this time he could totally take advantage of the spot.

Arthur probably had all sorts of spell books and stuff...and if Alfred was there in his house-he could get his hands on all the good stuff. After all, the sooner Alfred could cast and prove himself, the harder it would be for his government to write him off as a defenseless weakling.

But it would mean about a month (maybe more) of sucking up to the old man or at least appearing to. Just the thought of that left a bad taste of ash and gunpowder in his mouth, as it reminded him of all the blood that had been shed for the sake of his autonomy.

To pander to him now...seemed unpatriotic.

Not to mention, a scheme that involved emotionally manipulating Arthur made him uncomfortable. It left the range of Alfred's usual domain of sneaky cleverness and plunged straight into downright deception. His insides squirmed.

"Maybe...it's better if I stay here."

Arthur closed his eyes and gave a nod.

Besides…

He was America and he was pretty quick-even with only a few clues he could probably figure it all out. He'd built stuff with instructions in foreign languages, he could probably manage.

Maybe he was even a natural and just didn't know it yet? And if he wasn't...the fewer people who got to watch him screw up, the better.

"Yeah...yeah...that'd...that'd probably be best. I mean, I'm...probably gonna make a lot of mistakes and stuff on my first time and I don't need you all...laughing at me."

It was a painful thought-they already had so many things they could tease him about-he didn't need to add fuel to that fire.

"Alfred."

"I mean I'm gonna feel weird enough as it is, without-"

Arthur reached under the rocking chair to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I won't pressure you to come. I've already said so. But if that's the reason for your hesitation, I'd like to address it. No one. I guarantee you. No one will begrudge you your naivete. For God's sake Alfred, you've only just gotten your hold on your magic back. No one expects you to be an expert. It takes centuries of practice and you're _**so**_ young."

And then Alfred felt angry because his age always cropped up as an explanation to anything he did. Why did he fuck up? Oh, it was because he was young and stupid! Why did he succeed? Oh, it was because he was young and energetic!

"Naturally I feel a certain obligation to be the one instructing you and I appreciate (given our history) how that might be...challenging...but I do genuinely desire-"

Alfred squirmed away from the comforting hold, "I don't want you to feel bad for me! I know you keep hanging around like I'm a bird with a broken wing but-"

"No, I-"

"I don't want that from you!"

"Alf-"

"I'd rather suck at magic for forever, than have you around me only cuz you feel bad or 'obligated.' I don't wanna be seen as some-some fallen ally-thing you-you need to feel sorry for!"

He remembered when he'd gotten really sick during a trade meeting in England in the early 1800s and his father had Alistair drag him over to Windsor Castle to recover. Like he wanted to chill where George III had been hanging out the previous few decades. The royal jerkface.

It had been embarrassing needing Arthur's help to sit up and a pain in the ass being force fed tea under the old man's superstitious belief that a good cuppa could fix anything.

And anytime he disagreed with Arthur or said grumpy things about his country or people, the old man had humored him with a wary smile while explaining to staff who were standing nearby (and who were always so goddamned scandalized whenever he dared argue with their personification) that it was the fever talking.

The visit had sucked between England's snobby pity and Canada being a butt because of 1812. The only highlight had been meeting Australia-they'd learned to have a blast rolling around in the Dawson designed "Bath" wheelchair that America had been confined to.

One of the worst parts had been the array of new clothes he'd received for nothing more than being a guest: new boots, trousers, shirts, coats, and stockings (all finer than anything he could've purchased at the time).

Alfred chewed his lip.

"Alfred, I assure you-"

"That's not how I want things to be between us" he mumbled desperately. "I just need...I just want you to _**see me**_ …" as someone worthy.

Like he started to during the World Wars where Arthur didn't bother sugarcoating anything. Had treated him totally different from his other colonies and former territories. No affectionate pats on the shoulder or pep talks for him. Just a gruff _"Get off your arse, we have a mission."_

He'd respected Alfred's strength if nothing else. And after years of disdain and disregard, that had been enough.

"I just want to stand with you..." as an equal. And if England could just say it. If he could just nod and say, yes, against all odds Alfred had become someone of importance. Yes, him! The wandering Have-Nothing-No-Name had managed to claw his way to the top!

If the old man could just say he was impressed!

Cuz, God he'd really waited for it. If he'd hoped for it in World War I, he'd goddamned expected it by World War II. Because he'd done everything right! He'd dropped in during the eleventh hour, swooping in with guns blazing-determined to defeat the bad guys! And save the day! And prove himself! Just like the storybooks! Just like the movies! And the resolution was s'posed to include some version of Arthur's praise (he had several scenarios in mind ranging from lame to acceptable to glorious) and yet…yet not even the lame one (where he'd simply be told _"I owe you one"_ ) ended up happening.

He hesitantly looked up to find Arthur staring. Geez. Alfred probably looked like a wreck. His vision blurred.

 _I always admired you Old Man...and..._

 _I just want to be someone you can admire back._

 _And being your bumbling apprentice doesn't sound like the right way to go about it._

Dammit, he'd probably blubbered so much, he couldn't understand him! Or maybe he worded it all wrong. He struggled past the lump in his throat, horribly aware that his voice was squeaking pathetically.

"I-I just wanna be-"

"As do I!" Arthur burst.

Alfred blinked in startlement and his vision cleared as a few tears rolled down.

Wait...huh?

Arthur took several deep breaths, lips trembling as they curved into a hesitant smile.

He chuckled softly and then sniffled, "I...I don't want it to be this way either. I told myself...I could be content...Master and Pupil...a far sight better than ally or god forbid business partner. And from then on, there could be a _**real**_ chance for us to-to-recover our...way we were...I-"

Arthur looked up, looked down and away, his breathing becoming labored, "I can scarcely believe...unprepared for...I-I've waited so long I...sometimes I nearly despaired-I-"

Arthur looked down at him with a gentle, unguarded expression Alfred hadn't seen since…

"I told myself I could wait however long it need be-convinced myself that it needed to be you who initiated it...or you'd feel that I pressured you...told myself that time and patience was all that was necessary-but damnation I've never had two centuries last so long…" he wiped at his eyes and laughed breathily "But it's over. It's finally over."

He swallowed thickly and beckoned Alfred to come closer, "I _**see you**_ Sweetling. I always have. Come here now. Come, come."

Warning flags went off in his head like fireworks on the 4th of July and he was horrifically aware that some spectacular miscommunication had occurred. In a rare moment of perfect clarity (that Alfred usually only had when working on science projects and he caught an error one of his scientists had made in a complex formula), he realized that while he had been asking for respect and acknowledgment...Arthur had heard a bid for reconciliation.

Should he correct this?

"Please come here," Arthur opened his arms wide, "I won't have us suffer another minute of this goddamned estrangement."

And yet, wasn't this the perfect opportunity? Wouldn't Arthur feel more inclined to teach him as much as he could, if he felt that Alfred was a true member of his household again? When his guard was down? Immediately feelings of guilt stirred, because that wasn't a very heroic way to go about things.

But, if he rejected the offer, he'd seem like a total jerk. And it wasn't like he didn't want things patched up between them.

But dude, he totally wanted an apology for all the nasty treatment he'd gone through during their wars!

Maybe he should clarify everything now while he had a chance...

But Arthur looked so happy...if he shut him down now, who knew what would happen…

And wasn't it the right thing to do, even if it was for all the wrong reasons?

Because the sooner he mastered magic, the sooner he could climb back up into his spot as "Protector."

And he was so weak right now, he needed some kind of ace up his sleeve. For his country's sake, for his government's sake, for Texas and all the others under his protection…

For Canada…

And for...for England too...

How else could he protect them, when he'd been reduced to...this…?

He slowly crawled out from under the rocking chair and reached shy fingers towards his father.

He was immediately snatched up into a tight hug.

Arthur's eyes glimmered in the semidarkness, and his hands trembled as he gently cupped Alfred's face.

"I've waited so long for you to come home to me, my darling boy."

* * *

Read and Review Please! : DDD


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the new Power Rangers Movie. Or the New King Arthur Movie. Or Harry Potter. Or Silver Bells (the carol).

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Brief hint to the 1940s bewilderment of sufferers of PTSD. Brief mention of Virginia Kidnapping Laws. Salem Witch Hunt paranoia. Tunisia Campaign. RMS Lancastria. Manhattan Project. President Andrew Jackson hated the British with the undying passion of a zillion suns (and if you read up on him you will understand why he is totally allowed to feel that way.) Texas being Texas. Lots of flashbacks/musings in this one. Target parking lots are dangerous. Lots of parentheses and ellipses in this chap...lots of 'em.

 **AN:** Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas! (Or that you at least survived the holidays). Also, "Happy Chrismahanukwanzakah To You" (Shameless Quote from an old Virgin Mobile commercial and if you have lots of spare time-I recommend watching it on Youtube for a laugh). As for my well-wishers/concerned readers, yeah I'm okay. ^^ Family. Full stop. And my nephew likes to scream it out in the early a.m.'s of daybreak. The result? I ended up writing out about half the chap-read it, reread it, read it one more time...scrapped it (for the good of us all)...got some sleep. Had a little writer's block which I cured by bingeing on solitaire, the movie Austenland, and Linkin Park. Aaaand here ya go! : D

BTW: Happy-over-1000 Reviews for Wendigo! Whoo! XD Hope you all have awesome plans for New Year's!

 **Chapter 7: Operation Reconciliation/Go-Go-Magic-Hogwarts**

* * *

Even hours after America's confession, England couldn't believe his good fortune. Over. It felt surreal. Over. It was finally over. He rested his cheek against his child's head.

The little one had nodded off a bit past midnight.

Goodness. Of all the scenarios he'd considered occurring on Thanksgiving...and he'd imagined quite a few nightmarish possibilities:

Possible food fights…

Broken crystal…

Mathieu prematurely bringing up 1812…

Hell, he'd even had a nightmare a few days ago that Andrew Jackson showed up as a guest...

Over…

He pinched himself...twice…

No, not a dream…

Over…

Wind battered against against the windows.

 _His redcoat's tattered edges fluttered as another gust of wind blew by. The cold mud seeped into his boots as he knelt in the rain, watching the blue uniformed soldier...his colony...his boy...his son...his America turn his back on him and walk away…_

No, he shook his head as if to dislodge the memory. He stared down at the child in his arms.

Back.

Returned.

Reconciled.

Finally.

He buried his nose into the soft blond hair-breathing in the fresh scent of flowers. Alfred mumbled sleepily and curled his fingers into Arthur's sweater.

England smiled as he recalled earlier, in the minutes following America's tearful confession.

O the poor little lamb had been so distressed. Arthur's immediate thought had been to use the room's rocking chair to settle him down. So delighted with the turn of events and caught up in memories of all the other nights he'd spent on it; he hadn't given any thought to how old the weathered piece of furniture was.

His mind had been buzzing with how a good rocking always soothed his little one when scary stories, bad dreams, or baseless insecurities caused distress.

Surely it would comfort his Alfred, who was trembling in his arms like a leaf during a storm.

They'd only rocked twice before they had fallen right through-the chair splintering into pieces.

 _England grimaced-ahhh, his tailbone..._

" _You broke it!" Alfred cried in dismay._

 _The child was_ _ **so**_ _hilariously indignant…England forgot his pain._

" _...can't blame it on me, I haven't had_ _ **any**_ _burgers this week…" the child moved around to face him and tapped an accusatory finger on his nose "_ _ **you**_ _broke it-"_

 _The Briton couldn't contain the bubble of laughter rising in chest and he squeezed the boy close._

 _Of all the silly things to be concerned with…_

 _They'd just overcome two centuries of estrangement! Of empty spots at tables! Of cold shoulders! And sharp remarks! And bleak mornings following nostalgic dreams..._

 _To be troubled over something so simple as a chair!_

 _Silly little thing._

" _Don't laugh" the child whined._

 _He was so young._

 _Alfred's cheeks puffed...and Arthur laughed harder-nuzzling him._

" _Sorry love, I'll get you a nice new chair" he chuckled "I promise."_

England had decided then that Alfred's old bedroom was no place to be anyways. It was coated in dust and grime. The downstairs parlor was much better; he'd cleaned the area vigorously in his past visits.

Alfred had been concerningly quiet though, as they selected several sleeping bags and unzipped them to lie like quilts and cushion them from the floor. But he didn't fuss or sneer or refuse when Arthur stretched out and patted the space on the makeshift bed beside him.

Instead, the boy had very slowly shuffled over while fidgeting with with the large overly starched white collar on his costume. It was fastened on at the back of his neck, making it difficult to remove.

The boy had been painfully embarrassed when Arthur insisted on helping him; like it was a shameful thing to need assistance for anything, which made Arthur's heart ache.

As a young colony, Alfred would sprint to him whenever he needed assistance-slamming his little body into his father's legs and wrapping his arms tight-paying no mind to decorum. Arthur standing in a meeting with his officers just made him an easier target for his young colony.

At the time, he'd found it terribly improper and often scolded him for making such a scene (he had a terrible fear that Canada would one day followed his lead, and together they'd have knocked their colonizer on his arse in front of his men).

He'd give an awful lot to have that Alfred back.

This Alfred sat so stiffly-facing away with his head up, his shoulders back, and his spine straight...which while it would've made him a noble figure for death by firing squad it didn't really match the moment they were having.

Arthur knew he was being selfish: that he was wanting too much too soon. That he should be grateful to have his child back at all...even if he was in pieces.

He'd ended up turning several more lanterns on to give him better light for the task...and leaving them on as a nightlight for Alfred's comfort (the child had never been exceedingly fond of the dark).

Still, it hurt him somewhere deep as he'd gently unclasped the row of metal hooks and eyes; Alfred subconsciously leaned away from his touch.

Afterwards, the child rebuffed Arthur's attempts to make conversation-insisting he was tired. Arthur didn't doubt that; it was late, he'd slept poorly over the past few weeks, and he'd had a rough go of it this past year.

He had stared at the child's back for some time after that-trying to reassure himself that Alfred DID always get cranky when he was tired and that was the reason behind his sudden coldness.

The Tunisia Campaign had certainly made him act similarly. Arthur's repeated explanations of why certain plans just wouldn't work, had made Alfred become increasingly petulant in their interactions.

The chronic shortages of supplies and the multitude of bugs had also done little to improve the boy's mood. Having to share a tent and more importantly a mosquito net with his ex-colonizer, because he was so poorly equipped, didn't aid matters.

Alfred also had great difficulty sleeping there, which meant Arthur had great difficulty as he was often jostled as Alfred tossed and turned.

One night the Briton had been on the brink of telling the boy to stop snivelling (which usually got him to stop moving for a few hours at least), when the boy whined pitifully, "So _hot_ here."

Yes; it was. While London and Jamestown were humid places, their temperatures were far cooler.

It was the desolate tone though that roused Arthur's concern. On closer inspection, he'd found Alfred's face deeply flushed, his eyes glassy, and his skin terribly warm. For a little while, England feared that despite his best efforts to prevent it, the boy had caught malaria. Instead, he'd been overheated and dehydrated. It wasn't easy, but England managed to badger his own army and Alfred's until they began making allocations to ensure that Alfred received more water. His argument being that if they were going to make use of their strongest member, he needed to be in good health. Or it'd all be for naught.

Arthur had thought at the time, that Alfred was far too spoiled and that Arthur really shouldn't be indulging it but…

He'd looked so helpless in that moment, and the fact that England was largely responsible for him being there at all...

Damnation.

In light of all he knew following the wendigo fiasco, it made sense; he'd had a fussy seven year old with him the whole time. Naturally, he'd been a pain in the arse. God, it made him feel guilty.

Still, at least he'd had the good sense to keep Alfred close through most of the war. Must have been his parental instincts at work.

Arthur had watched the little back for about eight minutes before his self control failed utterly and he snatched the child up in a fierce embrace.

Two centuries was just too long!

" _Arthur?!"_

He had instinctively flinched...understanding now why Antonio had been so insistent that Texas call him 'Papi' when he'd thought their troubles with one another were over.

He hadn't pushed the issue over the past month; sometimes, Alfred called him Father or Dad or...Daddy...and other times...he was back to Arthur. All of which were far superior to "limey bastard" or "red-coat-son-of-a-bitch."

But...after tonight...he'd thought...it could be undone...

" _Father?" the lad burst into his office, his hat and cravat askew "Oh Father, where-Ah, there you are! I've been looking here and there and ha! Simply everywh-"_

" _Alfred" Arthur set down the report he'd been reading and stood up from his desk. He walked around it to stand in front of the lanky teen and retie the boy's cravat into a more fashionable knot. As his fingers arranged the fabric, he announced, "I think it's high time, we discussed other consequences of your...age. There are certain complications with you addressing me in such a way."_

 _Alfred blinked owlishly, "What do you mean, Father?"_

 _Arthur sighed, "You cannot call me that in front of the mortals. You will confuse them or worse...Massachusetts is having enough tribulations as it is without reviving any of that blasted Salem nonsense."_

 _Blue eyes stared at their shoes._

" _Sweet, at home it's perfectly fine, but here in public people will talk. And when people talk, they scrutinize, and once that happens they're bound to notice quite a few odd details about our family altogether..."_

 _The boy nodded "...Yes...Arthur."_

 _The Englishman hadn't been prepared for how stark...how harsh his first name could sound leaving that mouth...how cold the syllables could be. It wasn't that way when his other colonies said it._

" _W-well," he scrambled, setting his hands on the boy's shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze, "No one is here right now. I only mean when we have mortal company. Like my officers who are unaware of what we are-or-or when we're in town, pet."_

" _Yes, Arthur."_

It was his own fault; he knew that and he cursed himself for ever opening his blasted trap at all back then. He'd just been so afraid that Alfred could be prosecuted as a witch if anyone took notice of his non-aging body or his monstrous strength.

But...God! If he'd known he'd still be dealing with the fallout of his stupid decision in the 21st Century, he'd have bit his thumb at whatever the mortals had to say about it.

He eventually got the boy to call him "brother" or "sir" when in the presence of humans…because, dammit, it had hurt to be addressed like a stranger by the child he'd raised.

But after he gained independence...he'd given up that fight.

But now...now that he had a second chance...

 _He swallowed hard as he looked down at the small cherubic face-wan in the lantern light, "You-you don't have to...I mean, you can...you know you-you-you…"_

 _He took a shaky breath as Alfred blinked at him in concern._

" _You can call me Dad. Perfectly fine…to-to call me Dad or Father...or_ _ **Daddy**_ _" he murmured a bit too hopefully._

 _Alfred stared._

 _Too much...too soon…too strong._

 _He'd laid it on too thick._

 _The child rolled over to better face him._

" _...kay...th-thanks…"_

" _O'course."_

 _Alfred had fidgeted rather restlessly with the edge of the blanket while Arthur's heart sank like the RMS Lancastria. The child took several deep breaths as if he was steeling his nerves to say something._

 _Arthur had felt his stomach twist; was he going to tell him off?_

 _Seemingly resolved, Alfred looked Arthur in the eye._

 _He was going to tell him he needed space…that all of this was fine and good, but Arthur was smothering him. And he was…God, he knew he was, but dammit he just couldn't help it._

" _Good-good-good...g'night Daddy" Alfred immediately buried his face into Arthur's chest to avoid looking at him._

 _Arthur's breath had left him in a soft whoosh._

Even now, a good hour later, Arthur was still reeling from the revelation:

Shy.

His child was shy.

It made a terrible sort of sense; especially given light of all he'd seen in Alfred's subconscious and his Calvinistic tendencies of self-denial.

Following their wars he'd isolated himself, become paranoid...equated love with selfishness, pain, and weakness. He could love, but he didn't seem to...expect it back. Perhaps he even thought the seeming unrequitedness made him more heroic?

Well, Arthur would just need to disprove all his warped little theories and how better than by example?

He hummed lightly as he pet the soft hair and contemplated the small pair of black shoes set next to his-marveling at the enormous set of buckles hot glued to them. They were his from the 1600s. He'd had no idea Alfred still had them; it made him wonder what other items of his had made their way into Alfred's 'dress up collection.'

O he'd love Arthur's country estate! His storage room had quite a few costumes that he and his former charges would wear when they visited renaissance and medieval fairs as a group (often upstaging the staff workers with the quality of the fabric and the chronologically correct details of their garments). Alfred would have such fun with the capes and play swords.

His face softened as he watched the child sleep.

Shy…

He was so...loud and showy in other pursuits, Arthur hadn't noticed that in matters of the heart…

Shy…

Wait. He wasn't shy with Texas or Hawaii! Practically showered them with "I-love-you's."

He frowned; it really wasn't fair.

Yes; he heard an anguished declaration of love from the child before they plummeted into the ocean. And yes, he could sense it through their bond that Alfred had a warm spring of affection for him...

But he wanted to hear those precious three words, preferably in a situation that wasn't life-or-death!

He wanted to hear it at the end of telephone calls, see it at the bottom edges of letters, feel it in impromptu hugs.

 _Patience, Arthur, patience_ he told himself once again.

Mind buzzing, he replayed the night in his mind's eye over and over.

 _The little looked up at him so earnestly, so desperately, so woefully._

 _"I just need...I just want you to_ _ **see me**_ _…"_

 _"I just want to stand with you..."_

 _"I-I just wanna be-"_

Together.

 _Together._

 _ **Together.**_

Which was what Arthur wanted to! Contrary to Blue's assessments of him, Arthur did _**not**_ set much store in eloquence in moments like that.

He didn't need a ballad illustrating the sentiment.

Alfred choked out the words.

What more could Arthur ask for? Especially, considering the nigh insurmountable amount of pride that had to be swallowed to do so.

But Alfred managed.

That was all that mattered, and since it caused the child so much distress Arthur felt no need to drag it out. Maybe some other former colonizers would've dared ask their colony to repeat it more coherently. Not him. He was a parent; he could distinguish disclosures in the messy sobbing of children the way a dental hygienist could a hold a conversation with their patient.

God, any additional second keeping them apart would've been criminal.

He was proud of him. He was so proud of him. And he immediately set out to soothe him, to assure him that he was still deeply wanted.

"My darling boy" he murmured for the umpteenth time that night and kissed the child's forehead before stretching and settling into the makeshift bed-finally feeling content...relaxed...like a bow being unstrung for a well-earned moment's rest.

* * *

Alfred awoke as pale sunlight streamed in through the semi fogged windows.

Yup. The votes were in and tallied: Alfred was a terrible person.

It hurt. More than he thought it would. The hero was in a rough spot. Somehow he needed to simultaneously keep his sense of independence (because England could be domineering if you gave him half a chance) while providing familial amity (because his father was...pining for affection).

Yeah. It kinda came outta left field; Arthur was soo (the arm draped over him tightened and pulled him closer) cuddly.

Damn. He was cuddly. Where was the British stuffiness America had learned to endure?

He carefully wriggled free from the older man's hold even though it meant leaving the nice warm cocoon of blankets and arms.

"No" Arthur mumbled. "No. Stop."

Alfred blinked, paused, and then determinedly slid himself away.

 _Sorry old man-gotta stretch these wings, butterflies gotta fly._

 _Really wish it wasn't so friggin' cold though,_ he thought as he pulled Arthur's coat more tightly around himself. He should've grabbed a coat before he left last night, but he'd just been so out of it-it hadn't crossed his mind.

Alfred ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced over at his old man. Arthur was frowning now; his arm sweeping over the now vacant space beside him.

"No...no...please…"

Alfred crawled back over curiously; was...was he having a bad dream?

"No...don't. Please."

Dude, his dad was having a nightmare...which made him feel hella awkward. What was he s'posed to do?

Usually, he and Tex would just dump water on the other if they noticed a bad dream taking place. But that seemed way too mean, compared to how Arthur had been treating him during his night terrors.

He rested an uncertain hand on his father's shoulder and gave a gentle nudge.

"Nonono."

He nudged harder.

Green eyes fluttered open and Alfred was abruptly seized and crushed against the man's chest.

"You're safe" Arthur mumbled "Keep you safe...horrid woman...never...promise...you."

Aaand Alfred was back to playing teddy bear...which should've pissed him off but didn't.

He blinked hard and tried not to sniffle; Arthur was having a nightmare about Osha. Alistair had been pretty candid on his opinion of Iroquois and her treatment of everyone. He didn't need to know Gaelic to recognize a hardcore dissing. And the fact that his uncle didn't realize he'd switched dialects was telling. Ya know, in addition to the fact that his volume increased in a really scary way that Alfred had to hold his phone at arm's length or risk going deaf.

He'd seen in his cell phone text history that she'd been pretty nasty to England...plus, she mind-controlled Mattie...and Tex...and teamed up with a psycho bent on ruling North America...and ended up aiding in the release of a bunch of citizen-munching wendigo…and totally ruined Halloween for a lot of innocent people...

Yeah...

She wasn't all bad but she'd definitely made the worst first impression of herself ever. And the fact that his dad had taken it all so hard meant they had quite a few issues to work out before America dared invite them both to his next 4th of July. (He was trying to get the courts to view it as a parental kidnapping so it'd just be a class six felony. That way even if they threw the book at her, she'd only serve five years rather than ten.)

Alfred was coming to the conclusion that the whole thing had really done a number on his dad. He'd need to get her to apologize or something.

He laid there quietly listening to strong heartbeats, as blankets were rearranged and arms came to rest on him again.

He'd honestly felt guilty last night when his dad made it clear that he was...wanting closeness that Alfred wasn't sure he was capable of giving.

His heart wasn't in the greatest shape. Bits of it that weren't frozen were broken or cauterized. He did his best to throw the old man a bone though, which seemed to work.

And if addressing him as "Daddy" made him happy...Alfred supposed he could get used to it...again. Even though...saying it in public or in front of other nations was going to be...interesting.

He already felt himself blushing at the thought of a G8 meeting where "Daddy" insisted that he eat the meal he prepared him and drink his milk so he could "grow up big and strong." He'd probably pinch his cheek too when it happened.

Alfred sighed. Such a mess.

Several hours later found them tromping their way out of the woods and back to civilization.

Arthur was surprisingly chatty despite the bags under his eyes-usually being tired made him quiet and irritable.

He'd made sure several times that Alfred did want to spend his winter with the man. And each time Alfred assured that, yes, he wanted to celebrate Yule with him-his mood improved. He was entering "creepily cheery" territory.

Maybe his dad had found the supposed euphoric stage of sleep deprivation. The dudes at UC Berkeley insisted it was real.

Still, he couldn't really complain. Not when England actually invited him to talk about _Power Rangers_. Which was great cuz they were making a new movie for 2017! When he finally realized that he'd blabbered on and on and on-he segued into how there was also a _King Arthur_ movie slated for the same year and maybe...maybe they could...ya know...see them...together.

Cuz...family-ness...and this was a ton of time to prepare in advance for it...

Arthur said he'd be delighted.

Delighted.

Alfred chewed his lip as his cheeks warmed.

Nobody was ever _**delighted**_ to watch _Power Rangers_ with him. Mattie endured it for the sake of fairness. Texas considered it a proper penalty for times he screwed up and either forgot to do his half of chores or hurt Alfred's feelings.

He gave a sidelong glance and Arthur smiled and ruffled his hair.

Alfred would admit making it over the barbed wire fence was much easier with England's help...but walking hand-in-hand with him through the campsite parking lot was still kinda awkward.

Yes, they'd held hands several other times through this month.

But those had been more...professional? His hand had been held in that urgent sort of ' _I'm leading you out of danger'_ and to be fair Alfred had almost gotten run over by a van backing up in Target's parking lot.

This though...this was... _leisurely_ hand holding...ya know with that playful 'swing-of-the-arms' motion that Alfred often saw parents use to entertain little kids.

Arthur hadn't done this with him in...centuries.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice Arthur stop, and he bumped into him.

"Careful dear."

"S-sorry."

"We'll get you all settled, and you can rest on the drive back. How's that?" Arthur reasoned gesturing at Alfred's truck.

Alfred couldn't help staring.

Dude.

His tone.

His flipping tone.

All sugary.

He felt his eyebrow twitch.

He'd thought things were weird between them lately. Things were now officially "hella weird."

England just wasn't displaying the usual level of grumpy, cantankerous, dissatisfaction that Alfred had grown to depend on. Was he patronizing him? Like in stealth mode or something?

"Umm."

Arthur turned to him expectantly, posture relaxed, eyes pleasant.

Moment of truth.

If he was gonna pull off _Operation Reconciliation/Go-Go-Magic-Hogwarts_ , it would depend on how well he could execute this.

It was hard. No. Brutal. Handing his truck's keys over.

It was...horrible...having to stand by and watch Arthur move the deeply hated booster seat from the rental car (parked right beside his vehicle) into the truck cab-nodding absently as Arthur reasoned that he'd send his brothers or Mathieu or maybe Spain to fetch the rental.

It was devastating to his soul...having to sit in it complacently while Arthur fussed over the straps-making sure they crossed Alfred's torso correctly.

And to think...

He had a month of this to endure.

Though, it was pretty funny watching Arthur clear the driver's side of the stack of phonebooks and the mannequin leg.

He'd spent several minutes staring at that leg (which Alfred had used to press the gas pedal...Ah yes, American ingenuity at its finest).

"How did you? Did you purchase? Or find? Where would you? How long have you had? No, no I don't need to know" England flashed him a stern look "I'm throwing this away when he get home."

"Kay."

That was fine.

He still had the left leg in the basement.

The ride back was also...different.

Since Thanksgiving was now officially over, Alfred was now allowed to play the Christmas music station. He expected some grumpy sort of protest-possibly along the lines of connecting Christmas music to commercialism to Black Friday to overspending.

Arthur surprised him by singing along with Alfred and the radio. It wasn't that Arthur's singing was bad. On the contrary his dad had a pretty good singing voice (better than his by a long shot). But, he usually only sang when he was in a very good mood or someone was injured.

He remembered making a hospital visit to some of his men in 1942 (a good breather from the Tunisia Campaign-it felt like no one was listening to him at all there which meant he was always losing his temper). Turned out that Arthur was doing the same. Hong Kong had been transported there to recover fully.

Alfred had leisurely strolled by the door (rubbernecking).

The room had been filled with Arthur's current and former territories. All anxiously attending Hong Kong who was injured pretty bad.

Arthur had sat beside the teenager, holding one hand and singing softly.

Alfred gave them their privacy and continued on-convinced himself that he didn't need all that-even as he looked over his soldiers in various stages of dying. Didn't need any reassurance after watching two of his "physically alright" men dive under beds at the slightest sound.

No. He didn't need any handholding.

But...some people did. And they deserved to have that time together.

While waiting in the lobby of the hospital, trying to get himself psyched up to go back to his base with thoughts of honor and defense and maybe even a sprinkling of revenge for the sake of his men, he'd intercepted the courier who'd been sent to retrieve himself, Canada, Australia, and the U.K. brothers.

It had taken a lot of charm, rank pulling, and persistent salesman talk to convince the young courier that only America was needed. It earned the old man a five hour reprieve before another more experienced courier was sent to retrieve him-no if-ands-or-buts.

It later earned America a sharp slap from England for "interfering with war plans" and a threat to report him for misusing his rank. Thankfully, he hadn't carried it out, though Alfred made sure to lay low after that-asking for missions that would take him far away from the old man.

They set him to work in the essential "overture" of the Manhattan Project. Then he'd gotten a nasty gram insisting he return to assist his European allies.

When he tried to dig his heels in, his boss strong-armed him; work with England (who had more experience with this style of warfare) or go home.

He was brought out of his musings by a playful poke.

"Now, now. Sing the echo at least."

Arthur gestured at the radio which was now playing _Silver Bells._

As they sang a duet, he couldn't but wonder: was them being on good terms, really that important to his dad? In his Empire days, it'd seemed pretty glaringly obvious that England didn't need America all that much. While cotton and tobacco were pretty awesome, it just didn't compare to gold and pearls and chocolate and spices and silk and-and-and everything.

Following 1812, England constantly boasted about his other colonies' accomplishments. She was mastering the piano forte. He was quite a skilled painter. She could sing opera. He could sculpt. She could weave tapestries. They could perform wonderful orchestral pieces together for balls and holidays.

All ladies and gentlemen and children of refinement.

Alfred who, until that moment, had been proud of being a funambulist in a circus, had felt his throat close up when Arthur pointedly asked him what he was up to.

Because dancing along in a garishly pied ensemble on a highwire in a big top...was far too crass and vulgar for "the refined" to ever appreciate.

They pulled into the driveway to find Mexico and Spain standing in it. The former was yelling loudly in Spanish while the latter was pleading to be allowed "to talk."

Their attention was focused on the top of the house because...Oh...

There.

Peeking out the attic window...was a canon.

"Good Lord," England gasped "what in the world-"

"Dammit Tex" Alfred grumbled as he rolled down the window to better hear the commotion, "That canon is special. It's for the Zombie Apocalypse. Now the secret's out. Everybody on the block's probably gonna get one now and there goes our originality."

England carefully parked the truck before giving him an incredulous look.

"What? It will happen" Alfred guaranteed "And when it does, you'll be glad you're on my team. 'Sides I wanna try it against Wendigo too!"

"He wouldn't actually light it, would he?" England asked aghast.

"REMEMBER THE ALAMOOOO!"

Both blonds shared a look.

"Daddy, I need to get in there _fast_. Before somebody calls the cops."

* * *

Read & Review Please! And Happy New Year! : DDD


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Mario Bros. phrase: _'Your Princess Is In Another Castle.'_ Or the Spanish proverb: 'After a father's love the rest is air.'

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Cheat/I Doubt It/Bullshit the card game. French endearment: My rooster. Mattie being complicated. Significant moment dedicated to IHEARTTEXAS whose hilarious review in Wendigo conjured an image that just...needed to happen. Brief Sharknado reference. Bowling term. Reference to mini-golf rage. Fluffy angst : D

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! Woohoo! First update of the New Year : DDD

 **Chapter 8:** _ **We Don't Need More Mac & Cheese**_

* * *

Alistair was so glad their flight was tonight. He couldn't take much more of this chaos. As a matter of fact, he was a wee bit concerned that if Alfred _did_ visit them in December, he would be the catalyst that made their winter holiday go from tolerably chaotic to hell on Earth.

Though he didn't dare voice that to Arthur, who'd giddily informed them all as they stood around the attic ladder, that Alfred would most certainly be joining them for Yule.

Alistair felt his eyebrow twitch at the gleeful energy his youngest brother was giving off.

It reminded him of the Battle of Neville's Cross…

Which needled Alistair until he burst out, "The hell is up with that stupid face o' yours?"

Delighted to be asked, Arthur smugly told him, "We're reconciled; Alfred and I."

"No way!" Eire gaped. "I call 'Cheat!'"

Arthur scowled, "Indeed. We are. We came to an understanding."

Alistair stared up into the dark square hole leading into the attic to avoid commenting. Texas had taken refuge there after it was made known to him that Spain had every intention of hosting both Texas and Mexico for his Christmas celebration.

Alfred had hurdled up those rungs just a few minutes ago.

"Yes, my son and I finally-"

The Scotsman clapped a hand over the Englishman's mouth, only wincing slightly as he was bit. (Some habits just die hard, don't they Albion?)

His other brothers got the hint immediately and belted up to better eavesdrop.

"Dude! What are you doing?!" Alfred demanded.

"I'm goin' for the 7-10 split!" Texas roared.

"You've let the cat outta the bag. This is for the Zombie Apocalypse or wendigo or the dreaded Sharkicane and-hey...where's Guam and Alaska? There's no way they'd just sit idly by while you dive off the deep end and-"

"They went fishing" Tex supplied.

"Went. Fishing. Went fishing? Whaddyamean they went fishing? I had a really emotional dramatic crisis night...and they went fishing?"

"They up and went fishing and borrowed our boat. Guam was missing the water. Alaska was missing tranquility. Hawaii keeps calling, just so ya know...so...you're gonna wanna call her back."

"Oh...kay. Molossia, why are you up here helping Tex commit a felony?"

"Um" the third voice stuttered "W-well, th-they broke one of your plates."

"What!?"

"Yeah, Al. He's right. Mexico and Spain can be klutzy and-"

"Those bastards!"

"Kay Molossia, he's on our side! Light her-"

"Whoa nononono. We just had that driveway repaved!"

"Make an omelet break a few-"

"No. Don't you-No. Don't give ME the egg-breaking speech! You wreck my driveway-"

"If I angle it just so-"

"I. Said. No. If this was Texas, you could do this and I wouldn't interfere. BUT this is Virginia. So. No. If my house gets raided, there's all sorts of stuff that's gonna get confiscated. And then the White House will have to do another cover up to destroy the headlines for me."

"...well, you really shouldn't have attacked that mini-castle with your golf club."

"I know. The 'rage' got the better of me that day. And I watched _Braveheart_ a few hours earlier."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Whaddyamean why would I-"

There was the sound of a canon? being rolled across the floor. Damn, his attic must've been reinforced to support the weight. Alistair couldn't help but admire Alfred's mad sense of preparation.

"Whenever you watch that sorta Anti-Limey stuff you get madder than a wet hen!"

Alistair felt Arthur wince.

"Nuh uh."

"Yeah huh."

"Look you-ugh-you need to clear outta here. Go back downstairs. Hash it out with Spain or Mexico or whatever...we've still got those three Sumo suits. Do what you gotta do. But leave my breakable stuff alone."

"Or else what? What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna...I-I'm gonna...I know! I'm gonna call England up here."

"You wouldn't."

"He LOVES lecturing people."

Then Alistair felt Arthur wilt.

"And you're overdue, your Papi let's you get away with everything. With my Daddy...That. Doesn't. Happen."

Content that his brother wasn't going to interrupt the goings on overhead, he released him.

Arthur stared up at the attic rather dolefully.

"In fact, once he hits his stride you can bet that several other things you've done during the week that irritated him will also crop up in the rant. Like you, not taking the trash out on Monday."

Begrudgingly, Arthur nodded.

"I-I-I got busy."

"Expect it to crop up. Cuz dude, if I noticed. He noticed. He's the best in the business! I remember this one time when Jett smuggled in a boomerang into the Parliament building and we got to betting on how far he could throw it and not hit anything and-haha! They're gone!"

"Wha?! NO! You-you! Little lying! You were stalling for time! Molossia why did you let him distract us?"

"Because...he's America."

"Yes I AM!"

* * *

Canada sighed from his spot on the couch, watching England jot down various events and plans that would need to be altered now that he and America were reconciled and America would be joining them for December. He tore a page specifically for Alfred with the date and time he wanted the American to arrive. From what Mathieu gleaned, it was several days before Arthur usually had any of his other ex-colonies visit.

He tried not to be offended by that...and failed.

So then, Alfred would be a part of their winter festivities this year.

Mathieu couldn't envision it going well.

Alfred at a ballet? Or an opera? Or participating in their annual talent show? Behaving himself as they shopped in boutique stores and dined in fine restaurants? And if they were going to stay in Arthur's country estate as they usually did, where would Alfred be? All of the territories had picked out and specialized their rooms years ago.

If Arthur was expecting the two brothers to bunk together...

No. It was doomed. Hell, Arthur himself had confided not so many weeks ago that he didn't find Alfred's personality suitable for such outings.

What made it different now?

And-and-and what about him? When was Alfred going to tell him _they_ were reconciled?

They had extensive trade networks. They had defense plans. They-they-they had movie nights!

Still, he looked over to where Stuart was consoling Spain.

He supposed it could be worse: even during both of his invasions, Al had never personally aimed a cannon at him.

When it had become clear that neither Canada or Stuart had the skill to talk Texas down from the attic, the human had focused on trying to text America with what was going on.

Canada's attempts to rouse Francis and his U.K. relatives to help de-escalate the situation were fruitless.

When he voiced his dual fears of a terrible fallout occurring between Arthur and Alfred alone in the wilderness as well as a double homicide taking place several meters away via cannon, Scotland shrugged and France gave a flippant, " _C'est la vie."_

He ought to be relieved. No one was dead and rather than deteriorating, Alfred and Arthur's relationship had improved.

Arthur had already commented unnecessarily about how "sorry" he was to see Spain backsliding in his attempts to reconnect with his son-insisting that Spain's timing was likely off and that was the reason he was having so much trouble.

The Spaniard just kept repeating, "Didn't want him to be surprised when he saw her at my house later. She's family. She's going to be there for Christmas and when I told him that...he just-he just-"

A comforting hand rested on Mathieu's shoulder, for the umpteenth time Francis asked, "What is ze matter, mon coco?"

"I-I already told you….earlier...I was worried about-about everyone...Just...need time to calm down."

Francis frowned, "Mathieu."

Canada shifted a bit guiltily at the scolding tone.

"Non. Zhat is not it."

Mathieu bit his lip, and wished Kumakoro was here to squeeze for comfort. But he'd flown rather than drove and had to leave his polar bear behind.

Two blue eyes were set unwavering on him.

Of all the times to be noticed...

 _Oh Papa,_ he thought miserably, _how am I supposed to talk about this?_

When it was sooo….childish.

Oui. It felt childish to still feel a rivalry with America when they were obviously in very different life stages.

And yet...he couldn't deny the tugs of resentment he'd been feeling lately.

Unfortunately, before he could divulge his complicated feelings, America rushed into the room.

"Well gentlemen, I'm pleased to say we will NOT be on the six 'o'clock news...tonight anyway. Oh and thanks for texting me" he nodded at Stuart, "I kinda got 'em late...cuz I turned my phone off." Which made the man twitch a bit "But thanks. It's the thought that counts."

"Mijo…" Spain mumbled wistfully "why can't you just play nice?"

Alfred snorted, "You're dumb."

"Alfred!" Arthur scolded-head snapping up from his day planner where he was moving around several small Post-Its.

"Well, he is. Dude, Alamo. Alo-friggin-mo."

Spain frowned, "W-well of course, I understand that he has some reservations about-"

"Tch."

"But she's family! Lovi and Feli will be there too. And I send an invitation to Peru every year. I send out quite a few invitations, but I understand it's still too soon for a lot of my former territories-"

"There's no way he's gonna go if she's gonna be there."

"Mi familia..."

There was a jangle of cowboy spurs.

"Looks like Mexico took your car," Texas announced "so you're gonna need to call a cab or something."

The whole group winced in subconscious sympathy-geez, he wasn't even allowed to hang out for a few more hours?

"Tejas-"

"Hell no!"

"Tejas!"

"I said no!"

The Texan crossed his arms stubbornly.

"I didn't mean to make you upset. What can I do to make you feel better?"

Texas snorted "You can hightail it outta...wait a minute. Don't move. I'll be back!"

Spain glanced over at the rest of them, with a perplexed expression at his son's hasty departure.

Scotland shrugged and opened the tab of a can of pop.

"I dunno man" Alfred warned "Maybe you should just go-his penalty games are-oh no, too late!"

Texas reappeared with a devilish smile on his face, and a certain spiny potted plant in his hands.

"Que-"

"Hug the cactus" was the simple order.

"...ooh me that's a harsh one" Reilley murmured.

"Al?" Texas called.

"Y-yeah?"

"Film it." He lobbed him a camera.

"No, I don't wanna be an accomplice in your less than heroic scheme of misch-"

"I'll do it" Reilley volunteered-plucking the camera out of his nephew's grasp.

"Mijo, cannot we go out somewhere? I can treat you to lunch or something? W-w-why do I need to-"

"Think of it all symbolical-like. I _**am**_ the cactus. And once I have this on video, every time you screw up and it depresses me-I can console myself by replay-"

Spain grit his teeth determinedly, "Solo para ti, mi pequeño cactus."

There was a collective moment of impressed silence.

Then Reilley whistled, "Wow. He went in full steam."

"Sweet baby Jesus!" Texas gripped the sides of his hat in shock "He did it. He actually did it! I didn't expect him to actually-"

"Amor de padre que todo lo demás es aire."

"Aww, Papi...I didn't think you'd really…I was trying to scare you out the door..."

Alfred clapped, "Impressive old Spanish dude. Well played. Tex, you like, have to go with him now for Christmas. He took a cactus to the face!"

"..."

"Tex?"

"..."

"Dude, he practically smooched it. You gotta think about karma now. And what'll happen if you still refuse to-"

"Spainyousneakysonuva-you outgambited me! NO, don't scratch, it'll make it worse! Come on, I...I've got a glue remedy that should get most of the glochids out but dammit-don't scratch! Follow me!"

"Hmph" England sniffed as the two brunets left the room, "Amazing isn't it?" He gave his brothers a disapproving look "What sibling rivalry can lead to?"

They rolled their eyes in response.

"I was always so thankful you and Mathieu got on better than most."

Canada gave a half-hearted nod-despite feeling his emotions rise tumultuously in his chest.

"Yeah," Alfred interjected "you wouldn't believe half the stuff Tex told me about growing up with her nearby. Sheesh man. I thought it was rough when Mattie told me that there was a wardrobe monster eating my toys as an alternative to eating me. And that I needed to make sacrifices to it to keep it pleased. When really, he was stealing 'em and taking them up north to his house in Quebec."

Canada felt his face burn...particularly when England frowned heavily at him.

"He...had...more toys than he even played with and I was stuck inside more than him when winter hit."

"But!" Alfred continued "I always thought it all equaled out because whenever you did that and I noticed-I blew my nose in your pillow."

"Ugh, ew. Alfred!?"

"Alfred?! I taught you better than that!"

"Aww, reminds me o' us Scot."

"...have you already spat in my whiskey?"

"I told yeh: _'ya wouldn't know when'.._."

* * *

Costco was a madhouse.

"Madhouse" must've been the word of the day, because every one of his U.K. relatives had felt the need to say it in relation to his desire to venture to the store while they muched on leftovers from Thanksgiving.

Wales, Francis, and Mattie had outright refused to go, which meant Arthur delegated to them the task of retrieving and returning his rental car since he wouldn't need it later. Stuart had already volunteered to drop them off at the airport that evening...Alfred suspected it was because he knew that Francis and Arthur sharing a car together required a driver of great composure-ish apathy..and imperviousness to shouting.

Meanwhile, Texas was too busy performing First Aid on Spain to join (who was...oddly enough...enjoying the attention despite the pain of cactus-spine extraction).

Alistair and Reilley made it all the way to the parking lot, but two feet from the door (viewing the chaos within) got cold feet and returned to Stuart's van. Apparently, the U.K.'s Black Friday sales weren't quite as scary as his.

Stuart had been adamant that he was "chauffeuring only" and nothing, not even Alfred's sugariest offers of buying him something tasty or cool or both, could entice him to come with.

Which meant only he, Arthur, and Molossia dared venture within.

He peeked over at his father who was surveying the area with such obvious disdain, Alfred wondered why he bothered coming. However, when he noticed Alfred's gaze he smiled softly.

Alfred felt his face heat up and immediately looked away.

A warm hand settled on his head and tousled his hair fondly.

Hesitantly, he glanced back up to find green eyes watching him. He was lightly squeezed against his side.

Geez…

He'd thought his old man had been being strangely mushy with him before and now…

Now…

Now, he was starting to act like he used to when Alfred was small and anytime was a good time for hugs and cuddles-when no meeting was so important that Alfred couldn't crash it, a time before decorum and duty and dollars interceded and rearranged the priorities of their lives.

 _Careful Al,_ he warned himself, _you've known and lost this all before._

He pulled away and darted forward when it seemed that Molossia needed help wrestling a cart away from another shopper.

Perhaps, Alfred was naive going in.

While, he had numerous Black Friday notches in his belt-that was all prior to his "downsizing." He really just hadn't considered how much his new height would affect things.

After five people nearly trampled him trying to get to TVs (along with taking hip bumps and elbows), Arthur set him inside the cart. And he couldn't even get angry about the indignity of it-he was too busy feeling grateful for the protection the metal basket granted him.

" _ **Why**_ are we here?" Arthur demanded as he tried to maneuver them to a somewhat less occupied area near office supplies.

"Christmas shopping! I gotta get deals and this plus Cyber Monday means I can do it at a somewhat affordable price! Now come on! Be brave! Wheel me over to the computers-I gotta scavenge over what's left!"

The computers were a bust, but he got Mattie a ton of maple syrup.

It was as he ogled a pyramid of _Kraft Macaroni and Cheese_ and felt his taste buds tingle with desire that Molossia fished out a scrap of paper from his pocket.

"I-I'm s'posed to read this. Texas told me that this moment would come and I'm supposed to read this off if I want him to hold up his end of the bargain" the teen cleared his throat. In a flat monotone reading voice, Molossia announced " _No Al, we don't need more mac & cheese. You're already hoarding 23 boxes and 17 microwavable bowls_-"

"But those are uneven numbers!"

" _If you add them together, they make a round number._ "

"They're irregular prime numbers!"

" _Being irregular makes them special-_ "

Alfred glanced over at Arthur, "Damn. He's good."

" _Pick up cereal, but know that if you get one with all those nasty marshmallows, you gotta pick 'em out-_ "

"God, you're such a baby sometimes Tex" he grumbled.

"Um, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, cuz the note left instructions that if you complained-I'm s'posed to pinch you. And I...don't want to...soooo…"

They continued on and while he couldn't get Puerto Rico the laptop he wanted (Alfred would have to try again online on Monday, he got Samoa crossed off the X-mas list.

Arthur had been less than impressed with his choice of gifts though.

"Plastic storage boxes? T-shirts? And a sewing kit?"

"He's really good at recycling, and he can like mend anything. But sometimes he gets a lot of projects going at the same and these plastic bins will make him seem organized and...like ya know...less of a hoarder."

"I don't think you're in any position to call anyone else a _'hoarder.'_ "

Alfred ignored that, "It's always tough with the U.S. Virgin Islands. She loves to give me challenges. She wants socks with the Mario Bros. phrase: _'Your Princess Is In Another Castle.'_ Gonna have to special order that or something. Maybe Kiku knows a guy who knows a guy."

All in all, Alfred considered the outing fairly productive. Though it was kinda embarrassing that Arthur had insisted on buying Alfred flannel pajamas and thick socks from the kid's clothing section. And that for all of his gentlemanliness, he had no problem publicly humiliating a woman with Super-British-Scorn when she rammed their cart with her own.

Yeah...embarrassing...

Especially since it wasn't just the principle of the thing that had him all angry, he'd kept hissing "Daft cow" like an angry tea kettle and glaring at her as he asked Alfred over and over if he was alright.

Arthur had been this way when he was a colony-flipping out when a passerby knocked him down or when a merchant didn't acknowledge him with a 'How do you do?'

Alfred almost felt bad for her, but his elbow did kinda throb from where it had hit the side of the cart from when they were cart-jousted. Thankfully, he was able to swallow the strange pathetic impulse to tell Arthur that 'yes, it had hurt.'

And thank God for that! Who knew how the old man would respond? Would he have heckled that lady until she left the store? Or worse, would Alfred's elbow have been "kissed all better"? Alfred shuddered-could his ego even survive that?

Still, a small eternity in line later, they rolled out through the exit, he decided that it was just another normalish chaotic Black Friday and he'd been about to congratulate his companions on their sturdiness when...weirdness struck.

It happened as they were walking through a barrage of second-hand smoke from stressed out employees.

Alfred got a-a-a _**weird**_ feeling. Deep down. Rising up. Unfurling. Like a flag. Like a wisp of smoke spiraling up.

Usually, the smell didn't bother him too much; (he'd lived through eras where rooms would be clouded in secondhand smoke and there seemed to be a cigarette hanging out of everyone's mouth) but…

He'd never been that big a fan…

He'd smoked a little during various army days to be one of the guys or to look tough in saloons...but...it was never a hassle for him to quit (just wasn't that tasty). Unlike Tex...who, whenever he did fall off the bandwagon and had to quit again-was downright ornery. Alfred usually found reasons to stay out of the house preferably out of state...at least until he got: The Call-where his melancholy big brother would finally mellow out enough to wonder where he was and when he was coming back.

Smoke.

He seemed...hyper aware of it.

Alfred coughed as it clung to the insides of his nose in an insidious way.

Arthur moodily remarked (loud enough for the smokers to hear) that they ought to put the smoking area further from the entrance.

He coughed again and instead of getting nostalgic and thinking of corny commercials, bunkers or colonial tobacco fields...or Arthur smoking his pipe way in the 1600s-he thought of bodies brushing past him hefting furniture pieces.

The coughing fit increased and his sense of his surroundings became hazy. God. It felt like the smoke had followed them over. But now there was a stronger "burning" smell accompanying it. Distantly he seemed to hear glass break as the windows broke from the heat of the-

He was dimly aware of being pulled out of the cart and set on his unsteady feet.

Strong hands kept him from falling over and a stuffy British voice instructed him to breathe.

So authoritarian and grating…

That's what he was trying to escape. And should he fail who knew what could happen? God, if it all went wrong, could he be reclaimed after all?

"Breathe…"

He had half a mind to hold his breath just to spite the ol' Redcoat.

Wait...what?

"Breathe dear, poppet come on now" a hand thumped against his back for good measure.

Poppet?

... Familiar...resentfully familiar...

"In two, three, four and out two, three, four-"

...But trustworthy...

He struggled to comply.

"And in two, three, keep standing straight and out two, three, and good."

On the third cycle, it just as suddenly lifted.

And he was staring into two concerned green eyes.

He...didn't really have any explanation for the phenomena.

Perhaps because Molossia was giving him such a worried look and had his phone out and ready to dial-Alfred immediately suggested, "A-air must've gone down the wrong tube. I-I'm okay now."

He was promptly picked up (despite his protests to be put back in the cart so he and Molossia could roll down the incline of the parking lot) and settled on Arthur's hip.

As they, cautiously continued on, Arthur asked him very quietly, very seriously, "Do you have asthma?"

Alfred frowned, "NO."

"Alfred, have you been tested? Recently?"

"Yes...I...I don't know what that was," Alfred admitted quietly "I just...burning."

"Wot?" Arthur asked sharply.

"I dunno...just burning smell...the-the smokers I guess...gotta full whiff or something."

Arthur slowed his pace, letting Molossia get out of earshot, as well as taking advantage of the loud squeaking wheels.

"Or something" Arthur prompted shrewdly.

"Huh?"

"You heard me boy."

Alfred kicked his feet anxiously and picked at the buttons on Arthur's sweater, "Dude I don't even know. Oxygen deprivation or something."

"Or something" Arthur repeated. "Something like what?"

"...burning...windows..." he shrugged.

"Windows….and they were on fire?" Arthur continued. "Windows where?"

"Dunno" Alfred shrugged "Just a lovely hallucination Dad. I wouldn't look too deeply into-"

"Write it down in your dream journal" Arthur instructed "It could be a message or-or a vision from your subconscious."

"Yeah" he mumbled noncommittally "It's telling me ' _Noooo Alfred, don't let your dad cooooook._ "

He was abruptly set down and Arthur pulled him onward by hand-eyebrows twitching.

Alfred considered the topic dropped, until they passed a few more parked cars.

"Have you had any other episodes like that?" Arthur persisted.

"NO. I just couldn't breathe for a second cuz I swallowed air wrong."

"I-"

"Jaysus! Took long enough!" Reilley snapped as they approached the vehicle (Molossia was already unloading their cart).

"Well whaddya expect!" Alfred shot back "the line sucked!"

Scotland stuck his head out from the passenger window "Get your arses in already! We've barely enough time to drop this crap off and get us gone. Else we won't make it to our flights on time!"

* * *

Alfred hated to admit it. But Scotland had been right.

They BARELY got them there on time and thankfully they'd all packed pretty light or checking in their baggage would've made them late. Yeah, they'll need to schedule things better next year. Maybe leave a couple days after.

It'd been rough listening to Scotland swear every time they got stuck in traffic.

Rougher still, because Texas didn't come with him and since Tex wasn't driving (Alfred had been planning on being kind and letting his brother use his truck)-Molossia couldn't bum a lift to accompany them. (Which meant he didn't really have anyone on his side, when they started downing the Costco trip as a waste of time.)

" _They're_ _ **your**_ _relatives" Texas grumbled "And I got my hands full with mine" jabbing a thumb towards Spain who had to delay his departure to heal up and Molossia who was sulking that he couldn't ride with Alfred over._

" _Drive safe! Ride in your booster seat Alfred!"_

" _Dammit Papi, don't bring that up! I gave you a list of stuff I don't want you bringing up and-sit down Molossia! And shut up or I'll scrub your mouth out with soap!"_

He supposed he ought to be grateful that England and Francis had wisely chosen to sit as far apart from the other as the van would allow.

Unfortunately, it meant England spent the whole time pestering him about his "episode" in the parking lot and suggesting that he get "checked out" by a physician just in case. Maybe it was a delayed injury caused by his evaluation?!

"Or maybe" Alfred argued "I breathed in some nasty second-hand smoke in the worst way."

"Hmmm. Wouldn't hurt to get you some nice fresh air" Arthur had mused.

Alfred didn't bother stating that he'd gotten plenty of it as Osha's captive.

"You'll like the country estate. Very nice. Air is very fresh. And I think you'll enjoy the gardens. You always seem to enjoy my gardens."

Alfred felt his heart contract a bit painfully. Yes; he had always liked the gardens at England's various castles and manors and estates. Old man and his staff were good at designing them. But the truth was a bit more complicated. When he was little they were beautiful and it was so easy to have adventures within them. And when he got older, they were so easy to hide in...and get away from everyone he hated and who hated him back.

Arthur ruffled his hair affectionately and Alfred just felt...lost.

Arthur's head tilted in confusion, "I'm sure you'll like it dear. No need to be nervous."

And then there was that whole...connection between them. It was...super weird. Sometimes Arthur seemed to know exactly what he was feeling and other times...he didn't have a clue. It was like they had faulty wiring or something.

And Alfred couldn't say he really wanted it to be fixed. That could lead to all sorts of...problems.

When they'd arrived at the airport and everyone began filing out of the vehicle, he noticed Stuart watching him. He frowned and the man began adjusting his van's mirrors to give Alfred some privacy for his "farewells."

He exhaled heavily as he approached Canada who was talking with Francis...in French.

They'd been doing that a ton lately, and he was trying really hard not to be annoyed by it.

Spain and Texas kept doing it too. It made him kinda wish he and England had some super secret language _they_ could talk in.

He tapped a foot and watched the lights in his shoe race, "Sorry we didn't get to hang out more Mattie, Francis. But you guys'll drop by while I'm staying with England, right?"

He looked up hopefully. He knew he hadn't been that great a host to them-and they were leaving too soon for him to make up for it.

Canada blinked in surprise, "Alfred...England hosts us all when-"

"Goodbye for now sprogs" Alistair interrupted ruffling both of their hair.

Reilley had up and disappeared which Wales mentioned was for the best, since he tended to be emotional.

The Welshman gave Mattie a hug, Francis a handshake, and froze when it came to telling Alfred goodbye.

Alfred shared his awkward 'deer-in-the-headlights' look.

Dude, who was gonna make the affectionate move? Or be the jerk that sidestepped it? Or-

Thankfully, Arthur intervened then-shoving his carryon item into Wales' arms while he knelt down in front of Alfred.

He straightened Alfred's shirt and coat-fidgeting with the collar and buttons and murmuring that he needed a scarf.

His old man finally rested his hands on his shoulders, and quietly told him, "I'm so glad we straightened things out. Now...now, I'm only a ring away. Remember that. "

Alfred blinked, "But...the time difference, I-"

"Oh pish posh, don't worry about that. Phone me anytime. And keep up on that dream journal, and we'll make a research day of it. Alright, Sweet?"

Alfred was caught off guard by the sudden lump in his throat. That wasn't supposed to happen anymore. Centuries of goodbyes should've robbed him of the sensation altogether, but ever since that whole wendigo fiasco-his emotions were so-so-so near the surface...it was frustrating as hell.

Arthur's brows knit together sympathetically as Alfred blinked hard, "Oh pet, we'll be together soon. You'll see."

Arthur sighed; stared at him for a long beat, pulled him in for a tight hug, and kissed his cheek.

"Now stay safe my darling."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or British Airways. Or London City Airport. Or Captain America. Or Austin Powers. Or James Bond. Or Pret-A-Manger the restaurant. Or the magazines: _Woman's Weekly_ and _Simply Knitting._

 **Warning:** PROFANITY (note the use of the caps-lock key for emphasis). Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Drunk people can make real jerks of themselves-especially if they're jerks to begin with. England is a protective papa...and a delinquent which results in Action!Arthur. British slang. Limited knowledge of the UK's public transport system and London City Airport. Shameless use of quotes from my other fic Wendigo-cuz why write something if you can't copy and paste some bits now and again. Copious amount of FLUFF in this chap-be sure to chew it carefully, we don't want anyone choking. It is illegal to bring meat into the U.K. from another country (pretty much the case for most countries). People make snap judgments over wardrobe choices. Various tidbits (hopefully somewhat accurate) regarding British Airways and their Skyflyer Solo Program for minors. Brief mention of NSPCC (National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children). The fandom seems to have named England's cat: Camelot Fitzpatrick Kirkland III (and who am I to disagree with that wonderfully pompous, long winded name :D)

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! I'm glad you've enjoyed thus far! Know that I read and reread your guys' comments for inspiration. Enjoy!

 **Chapter 9: Like A Cow With A Bell**

* * *

Arthur cheered with the crowd as the next song started.

It was always so important to schedule time for one's hobbies.

He'd often found it especially prudent to indulge the rougher side of himself before he played host to his former colonies.

Yes. He needed this:

One last well-earned-alcohol-infused-hurrah before he was swept under a wave of familial drama and paternal responsibility. After all, as a colonizer he'd found, that he was only as happy as his least happy colony. And it was almost like a pact among the children for one of them to act up when they all got together under one roof.

Still, he felt his heart warm at the thought of seeing all of their faces at once. Well...not all...alas, like Spain, he had quite a few that thought of him...less than fondly. But no one sent back his holiday cards...any more. And quite a few that weren't staying with him for the holiday were still stopping by on the night of the ball.

He tried to content himself with that. Hopefully, he'd get to see Kenya, Malaysia, Singapore, and India then.

Still...

Even with only ten or so of them lodging with him (he suppressed the melancholy sigh at the small turnout-reminding himself that the ones that weren't attending were adults now...they were allowed to make their own traditions and spend their time however they saw fit), it could still be a challenge. He'd learnt long ago with Australia that age did not necessarily mean maturity. So naturally, it would take all four Kirkland brothers to keep the children toeing the line-respecting one another's cultural differences, moving past historical disputes, and...not hiding the helmets of Arthur's suits of armor.

Oh yes, he took a deep gulp of ale. He needed this night off. To drink until he was near legless, to whoop until he was hoarse, to-

His phone vibrated again...he'd told himself before going out tonight-that he wasn't going to answer until the concert was over.

That he deserved personal time.

It vibrated once more.

Bugger. He'd specifically told Parliament not to bother him unless it was dire. Did he forget to sign something off? Could it really not wait?

He answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Wot?" He answered irritatedly.

" _Oh! Ummm...I..."_

The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the crowd's roar of approval.

"What?" he repeated as he pushed past the crowd of dancing bodies to step out into the lobby.

Dammit, this better be good-there was a really wicked guitar solo he was missing out on.

He tapped an impatient foot, boredly watching a flickering fluorescent light overhead.

"What is it? Say it again."

" _A-are you okay?"_ a worried little voice asked.

He almost dropped his beer. He leaned against the wall to steady himself.

"Alfred, yes, yes. What's wrong, poppet?"

" _I...I've been trying to call you for a while...I...was scar-concerned that-that something happened to you."_

Scared...

He felt his heart squeeze at the frightened tone and guilt seeped in where his annoyance had been.

' _For a while…'_

"No pet, I'm alright." Did he have a bad dream or something? He checked his watch. Let's see if it was 23:30 hours here then...wait...no, that didn't make any sense.

" _...then...then where ARE you? I-"_

"What do you mean 'where am I-"

" _I can't keep Americat in his cage much longer. If I do there'll be consequences! He'll revenge-pee on everything!"_

Arthur felt his eyebrows twitch as a horrible sinking feeling of intuition settled.

Five days. He was five days early. He'd wrote it down, emailed him, made him repeat it several times.

"You were supposed to arrive on the 8th…"

" _No, you said...I've got it right here and...oh...OH...oh no...I got frosting on your paper...we had cinnamon rolls a couple of days ago...and...made it look like a three…"_

Arthur took a deep cleansing breath and ran a hand through his hair, "Alfred, are you at the airport?"

" _..."_

"Alfred?" So much for his night to himself.

" _...heh heh heh, s'okay...s'okay...hero can figure something out. I-I'll see you on the 8th as agreed. S-sorry to interrupt. Bye."_

"Alfr-"

The line went dead.

Arthur blinked and immediately redialed him.

" _O-oh hey, um...how are you? Ha...heh...um..."_

"Are you waiting at London City Airport?"

" _...y-yeah..."_

Damnation. He checked his watch! Damnation, he'd have to hurry if he was going to catch the last Tube service over. Had to hurry before the airport carted Alfred off to God-Knows-Where out of fear of parental neglect!

"I'm on my way. Don't wander off."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back in his denim pocket.

"Art?" Molly (who hated her name and always seemed to be asking others for their input on what she ought to change it to, but never actually went through with it and thus remained Molly) asked. "Art, wot chu doin' out here?"

Her current beau (she seemed to have a new one every concert) sauntered up and slid an arm around her shoulders.

"You alright?" Piers asked taking a gulp from his plastic cup, "Not spewing already? We barely even start-"

Molly giggled a bit embarrassedly and Arthur felt himself flush. Last year found both blonds sharing a bin after indulging a bit too heavily. He wondered idly if she'd shared that story.

Humans. Sometimes it seemed impossible not to forge some sort of bond with them. Meet up at enough concerts and before you knew it...well...he wouldn't go so far as to call them mates but...friendly acquaintances with a mutual appreciation for punk rock. In a few years (when his lack of aging became apparent), he'd need to lie low.

"Something's come up" Arthur bit out tersely.

"Can't it wait? You'll be missing out."

Yes. He knew. Arthur set his cup down on the wobbly nearby bench-fighting a desperate urge to knock it back and ease the frustration he was feeling.

"Artie?" Eva called as she entered the lobby, one hand sweeping her neon red fringe out of her face, "Why'd you rush out? Somethin' the matter? Wha's all this, fer? Having a bloody conference? Why's everyone out here?"

Jasper followed at a few paces behind-eyes fixed on her. Poor git had been after her for ages-not that she seemed to notice. She had higher standards than the likes of him. Arthur approved; she could do much better than that idgit. His opinion might've been influenced by the fact that he and Jasper just...didn't get on well. Perhaps, it had something to do with his hair; anything that reminded him of his brothers tended to irritate him.

As a nation, he was obligated to care about the wellbeing of all of his citizens...regardless of how obnoxious they could be. But as a man, there were more than a few he'd love to have a round of fisticuffs with.

Arthur sighed, "There was a...mix up. My kid arrived at the airport early and I must-"

"... _ **you**_ have a kid?" Jasper laughed.

Arthur stiffened at the incredulous tone and their snickers. What business of it was theirs to know he had a child anyway? And why such surprise?

He was the British Empire! He was a paragon of masculine strength and virility!

"I mean, god how old is he?"

"Yeh gotta a picture?" Eva asked with interest. "On yer phone, yeh've a picture?"

"Must be going" He muttered. Wallet check. Phone check. Watch check.

"Jesus, what year of secondary school did you have him?"

His fists clenched and he turned on his heel.

"Aww come on Artie, I wanna see the lil' fellow-"

"Ugh, child support must suck-" Piers chuckled until Molly elbowed him.

"Betcha wish you'd known how to use the johnnie properly right?" Jasper laughed again and gave him a hard shove. "Or were you so lagered you-"

The rushing sound in his ears grew louder as his face heated up with anger.

More laughter sounded and-

' _Saunee says we aren't a s'posed to have families.'_

Unbidden, memories of a barefoot Roanoke with sad blue-green eyes shivering in the cold flitted through his mind's eye.

 _His bright blue eyes crinkled in a sad, sincere smile: 'I'll love you in every lifetime I have…'_

 _Arthur gently brushed Alfred's fringe out of his eyes and Alfred leaned in lightly to the touch._

 _"My heart would never again know the frigid hold of loneliness if I could hear the warmth of your voice at all hours."_

"Guess ya couldn't convince the bird to save yourselves an 18 year commit-"

He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him hard into the wall of the lobby-loosening bits of plaster, "Belt the fuck up, you stupid wanker!"

There were several cries of dismay and "easy now!"

"The fuck is with you?" Jasper hissed.

Eva rested a long-nailed hand on his shoulder, "Jasper's just bein' hisself; a rotter, Artie let him go."

Arthur gave him a rough shake, "You don't talk about my boy that way. You keep your goddamned trap SHUT about my son. "

He released him with a hard push that knocked him into Piers.

"Art..hur?" Molly mumbled.

"Touchy" Piers mumbled, helping Jasper right himself and tugging him and Molly back toward the concert.

"S'alright" Eva assured even as Arthur made the exit.

God. He ran a hand through his hair-torn between feeling satisfied and disgusted with himself. And a bit disappointed-though whether it was for taking such a violent action or not being violent enough...he couldn't tell.

"I got a little girl meself!" she called after him. "She's four. Oi! Tell him 'ello from me, won't you? I'll 'spect details at the next concert!"

* * *

Alfred pushed a bit of beef jerky through one of the small square holes on the front of Americat's carrier.

He glanced over at Martha-an airport worker in her late twenties who was currently on her cell phone explaining to her boyfriend why she was running late.

He gave her kudos points for trying to stay professional, but she should've been off two hours ago and frustration was beginning to color her tone.

Alfred appreciated the effort though.

When it became clear that he didn't have a guardian to be handed off to, he'd been shuffled among various attendants as the hours passed.

Only a call to the American Embassy, who got in contact with Arthur's assistants and who gave the airport a special little phone call kept the police and NSPCC from being involved.

It did however pique all the humans' interest in him.

Naturally being British, they guarded their surprise and curiosity pretty well...except that they'd stare at him a beat too long.

No doubt wondering who the hell he was related to and what connections that person had.

Aside from all the drama and frustration, they'd been pretty nice; one guy, Tom, had ran down to _Pret A-something_ and gotten him a sandwich for dinner. Didn't even let him pay. And he tried! Twice!

The roughest part of it all was the whole thing could've been avoided if he'd just flown on some other airline or jet or something. It was hard to believe none of his military aircraft were passing by. Dude, he could've easily been dropped off somewhere (maybe even parachuted...though Americat would've been unhappy) and hoofed his way over.

Admittedly, Alfred should've done more research and found an airline that didn't bother with the whole _'oh noes, he's a minor'_ business.

But Arthur was pretty fond of British Airways.

And so, Alfred had his assistants coordinate with Arthur's to make his arrangements.

He'd had no idea until it was too late that he couldn't escape the _Skyflyer Solo Program_. Apparently, being seven (and sadly looking younger than that) meant the world suddenly doubted his abilities to safely transport himself between countries.

And he had to wear a big ol' identification tag around his neck.

Like a cow with a bell.

Notice me. Herd me. Feed me.

He glanced over to where Martha was chatting and staring longingly out towards the window.

Ignore me.

Americat gobbled up the last bit of jerky America was holding.

Which was was for the best, otherwise Martha would wonder where he got it, which would lead to shock and anger and surprise that Customs hadn't separated him from his stash of U.S. meat.

Which would no doubt get back to Arthur eventually, and then there'd be more things to get upset about.

He really didn't need that.

He ran a hand through his hair-frustrated with himself.

Messing up his arrival date by five days.

Five days. He was five friggin' days early.

Crap.

He felt like such an idiot. He was already ruining _Operation: Reconciliation/GoGo Magic Hogwarts!_ And he wasn't even out of the gate yet!

And when he'd finally got a hold of Arthur…

He'd sounded so...annoyed.

Not that he blamed him.

He had that 'America-I'm-terribly-busy-and-you're-being-a-hindrance' tone and this fiasco wasn't gonna help things.

Stupid flyer program.

There'd been forms he'd had to fill out 48 hours prior. Forms before he boarded. And no doubt there'd be forms to get him released into Arthur's care.

He totally understood the legal issues surrounding everything but…

God, he was so tempted to just bumrush his way out.

But now that Arthur was coming...he really had to stay put.

He should also try and stock up on Coke cans, because it'd be easier to smuggle soda into Arthur's house through his luggage than on the grocery conveyor belt.

He rubbed his eyes; he might just need to get one right now for his own sake if he was gonna stay awake.

And staying awake was uberly important, since that one creepy guy was still hanging around.

He'd noticed him about an hour or so ago.

Alfred wasn't sure what it was about him that was so unsettling.

It was winter; so long coats were the norm and he was pale because….well, England and the sun had a spotty relationship.

But the dude was...kinda grey.

Not that he was against greyness.

Tony was one of his besties and he was grey...but he was alien-from-outer-space grey.

And this guy was creepy-drowning-victim-purple grey

He kept telling himself that dreary weather did that to some people but...

Maybe it was lingering paranoia on his part (though getting kidnapped, held hostage and nearly fed to wendigo kinda did that to ya) but ever since he'd stepped out of the plane, he'd felt a weird awareness. Kinda like he was surrounded by fog which made the whole place seem scary and mysterious.

It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end from time to time.

And for a time there he'd gotten really jumpy when he couldn't get a hold of Arthur, and he didn't know if his old man was in trouble, and he was stuck here in airport limbo, and it seemed that the creepy gray guy got closer each time Alfred had looked for him.

Tentatively, Alfred scanned around.

CRAP!

Less than twenty feet.

Eeeeep.

The worst part of all was that Martha was too PC to notice his creepiness. When he told her about the dude, she scolded him for labeling anyone as a "creeper."

He reached a hand into his _Captain America_ backpack and rubbed one of Hop's floppy cloth ears for good luck.

* * *

Arthur swiftly decided that the brisk night air was good…very good against his rage-flushed skin. Calming.

And he was lucky. Very lucky...that this wasn't a mainstream concert, or his little outburst would've been met with a lot more consequence.

As it was, he still had to outrun two guards (who'd witnessed his actions from afar), climb a chain link fence, and hide in an alley for several moments longer than he liked. Not good. Not when he was running on a tight schedule.

While riding the tube over to the airport, his mind buzzed like a hornet's nest.

Illegitimate. Unwanted. An accident. No, worse. A mistake. To insinuate that-that-that he didn't want him-just-

Stupid wanker!

His nostrils flared.

It didn't matter that "bastard" didn't hold the same awful potency of insult that it used to.

The fact that he said it-implied it...Let alone what he'd insinuated about Alfred's value to him…

God.

Sickening.

As if someone's child was ever an appropriate target for such cruel remarks.

Arthur's nails bit into the flesh of his palm-he'd lived through eras where lineage meant everything. Days where a surname could be the difference between having a home or wandering the streets.

He'd seen firsthand the messes that could be made in households, in wills, in lines of succession...

Illegitimate…

Arthur hadn't been there for his birth...that was true….but…it wasn't to say that he was-was a…

Yes. They'd gotten their fair share of gossip by the colonists. Usually, whenever one of them grew particularly nosy, he'd drop a less than subtle hint on the demise of "Lady Kirkland" via childbed.

He blinked. Damnation. What story should he go with now? He hadn't really given the matter much thought.

Alfred didn't have his last name anymore either…

What would people think when they saw their differing last names?

It made his insides twist painfully.

Would they think it was the mother's maiden name? That he and the supposed 'bearer of his child' had never been married? Or perhaps it was the surname of her new spouse.

He didn't really like any of those options…

Still, he supposed a somewhat believable story would be…

He sighed.

That he'd had a fling with an American exchange student...in secondary school. They'd kept the baby, but their relationship didn't last and...they lived in different countries. Blah blah blah, young love or lust-whatever.

It would be assumed from the fact that Alfred had a very noticeable accent that he was "visiting" the U.K. and that she had full custody. Arthur got to have him over for certain holidays and whatnot.

People would also assume from his lack of a significant other, that he was still enamored with her.

God. How tragic. It sounded like the opening to one of those American Lifetime Channel Movies. (He really had watched entirely too much telly during his stay in the U.S.)

Hmmm...

Maybe...keep the first bit, and add the 'death via childbed' lest people pester him for details or pictures or whatever.

Hmm…

Except that wouldn't explain why Alfred wasn't living with him to begin with!

Unless!

He was adopted by her family!

Yes! Yes, that would work! He could even sell Momilani as Alfred's grandmother! Momilani...Jones…?

He blinked...though...Alfred didn't look Hawaiian in the slightest.

He shrugged it off. Alfred didn't look like Iroquois either.

He took entirely after him in the genetics template! And if anyone inquired about it that's what he'd say: "Alfred looks like his Daddy."

With that backstory crisis handled, he listened to the slew of messages Alfred had left on his phone-hearing the voice go from bored to annoyed to worried to scared.

Poor lamb.

" _I-I called my embassy and they connected me to your office, but they already said you'd left...you're okay...right? Maybe...you've just got a low battery, right? Or you're in a tunnel? Or-or-um..._ _ **Please**_ _call me back."_

Hours.

He'd been waiting for hours!

And Arthur had received messages. Messages! Not ill-typed texts! It made his heart flutter.

His assistants and the American Embassy had also left him urgent voicemail-regarding America's situation.

A small eternity later he was power-walking into the terminal building (he didn't want to frighten security) and over to the nearest desk-breathlessly informing the receptionist that he was Arthur Kirkland and he needed to pick up his son.

He hastily filled out the paperwork releasing Alfred and the woman made a quick call.

Soon after, he heard the rolling of a heavy suitcase and there….

There.

His son.

Blue eyes brightened as they focused on him.

The child sprang forward, causing the cat to slide roughly in its carrier with a shocked yelp.

"Thank God you're here!" the child declared as he slid to a stop in front of him.

The bright smile lifted his spirits. Jasper could go jump off London Bridge. Arthur was happy to be reunited with his boy regardless of the circumstances.

"I have to pee _**so**_ bad" Alfred whined.

And the good feeling dampened a bit.

"Ah, Mr. Kirkland" the second woman greeted a bit woodenly-eyes roving over his ensemble.

God.

He felt his face heat up intolerably. Unfortunate connotations involving stereotypes, lifestyle choices, narcissism, and poor parenting were made.

"Sorry. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience" Arthur apologized embarrassed. "Bit of a mix up. Thank you for watching over him."

There was an urgent tug on his trousers, "Daaaad."

The woman gave an amused smile and a pleasant "goodbye" to Alfred, a cold unimpressed look to Arthur, and then went on her way.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, took over the handle of the rolling suitcase, and then beckoned for Alfred to follow.

"Alfred...I'm certain you could've just asked her to watch Americat while you headed to the loo." And even if he hadn't, Arthur knew from firsthand experience that the cat was far too heavy to make off with easily.

"Huh? No...it wasn't that...it's just that...that dude in the trench coat keeps watching me."

Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes.

Was he going through another spy phase? The child had always been totally enamored with _James Bond_ movies. And while he was pleased that Alfred appreciated the character-he wished he wouldn't try to emulate him.

"Oh really? And what sinister thing is he up to?" Arthur inquired indulgently. He half-expected a ridiculous answer possibly inspired by that horrid _Austin Powers_ movie.

"Well…" the boy murmured quietly "...he's following us right now."

Arthur immediately stopped and looked behind him.

He blinked looking over to see...well true enough, there was a man in a long coat at least forty paces behind them.

Following...

Though...he appeared to be reading a magazine: _Woman's Weekly_? Perhaps there was a good recipe in there. He'd check the next time he visited the newsstand. It got him thinking. Why, he hadn't gotten to purchase a _Simply Knitting_ magazine in ages. And with Alfred's young form…

Delight flooded him. O there were an array of fun patterns he could use now! And Alfred always got cold so easily, he'd be sure to wear them! Unlike Wy who didn't appreciate how many ruffles he put on items he made for her and Sealand who loved his sailor uniform too much to cover it with a cardigan.

"The creeper...creepin' on me."

"Alfred" he sighed. The child did always have a tendency to exaggerate things and believe the world revolved around him. That everyone everywhere had their eye on him-though in this particularly case there might've been some truth to it. Goodness, how could he fail to draw attention on himself trotting about as he was?

Arthur felt his eye twitch.

The pet carrier (a bright shiny silver) was strapped haphazardly (with a neon orange jump rope?) to an overly large rolling suitcase that was colored like the American flag. The suitcase had various baubles dangling from it's zippers.

And then there was Alfred and his current outfit; the denims and the bright grass green shirt were acceptable (though a more muted emerald green would've suited the season better). He'd even let the childish, laminated _Captain America_ rucksack slide (because of America's age).

No. The deal breaker was the slick, bright yellow raincoat, hat, and matching wellies he was wearing.

Noticing Arthur's gaze, he shrugged "Cuz it's so rainy here…"

Except it wasn't raining now. Surprisingly warm for the season actually.

"...and I wanted to save luggage space. Anyways…" Alfred scuffed a shoe on the floor "maybe yeah...it's just my mind playing tricks...could be coincidence...but...he started to follow me both times I made for the restroom."

"..." _**That**_ got Arthur's hackles to rise. He directed a fierce glare at the man who, damn it Alfred was right, _**was**_ watching them.

Venomous green eyes narrowed aggressively.

The man abruptly took a right and moved further away from them, but the way he moved was odd…

Stilted…

Like his joints didn't move quite…right...

"Dad."

Very odd…

"Daaaaaad."

Unsettling...

"Ahhhhhhh, I gotta gooooo" Alfred whinged dramatically, wringing his hands and crossing his legs.

"Righto! Come along," He took the luggage handle in one hand and snagged his child's arm in the other, "the sooner you relieve yourself, the sooner we can be off."

* * *

Arthur was quietly cursing the weight of the suitcase as he pulled it along.

Good God, what had the child packed? And how much extra money had he paid to transport it? Absurd. He better not have brought 10 kilograms-worth of video game paraphernalia nestled in there.

He glanced behind him to find Alfred dragging his feet.

He frowned.

"Alfred" he warned; he did not have the patience for a sulking boy at this late hour.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur sighed, "Well then hop to it. Come on now. One two, one-"

"H-huh?" his head snapped up with a confused expression. "F-for...messing up, I mean. I-I really thought today was…"

Oh…

Alfred released a frustrated breath, chewed on his bottom lip, and looked hesitantly up at Arthur.

Oh...

Arthur waved a dismissive hand.

Was it inconvenient, to suddenly have his plans turn topsy turvy despite his earnest attempts to maintain some semblance of order?

Yes.

Was it a bit exasperating to have his child suddenly appear before Arthur had the house tidied or the groceries bought or the final preparations for the country estate done with?

Perhaps.

Was it an unworkable situation?

No. Not by any means. It simply meant that Alfred would need to accompany him on some of the tasks he needed to accomplish over the next few days.

And he said so-commenting that poor Alfred would now be his official assistant in his preparations for their winter holiday by arriving so early and that it'd be a good opportunity for Alfred to repay the copious amounts of housework Arthur had done for him over the past few months. He'd expected a groan about exploitation and guilt tripping and was a bit concerned when he received a subdued, "...kay."

He immediately shortened the gap between them and rested his hand on the child's head.

"You did the right thing" he assured "I'm glad you called me and that you didn't run off when the situation became...troublesome."

"...I thought about it" Alfred admitted "But I didn't wanna make a bunch of extra work for the airport workers and the police officers by setting off an Amber Alert."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I didn't answer sooner" he ran a hand through the soft hair "Have you eaten?"

Alfred nodded and described the sandwich in more detail than was strictly necessary for a simple "Yes" or "No" question.

And perhaps Arthur imagined it, but it seemed like Alfred held his hand a bit tighter after that and Arthur didn't need to remind him to stay close when they exited the airport and he began signalling a taxicab over.

The air of woeful contriteness wore off completely as the vehicle sped along.

It was as Arthur sat back-worrying over the adult seat belt strapped across Alfred's torso-that he realized he was the sole focus of Alfred's attention.

Seated beside his father and back to his usual self, he became increasingly interested in Arthur's apparel.

Typical.

Alfred had been so invested in his own gloom he couldn't process anything around him. O the "travesty" of making an honest mistake. He'd seemed ready to fall upon his sword a few moments ago.

So dramatic.

Silly thing.

And now that his fears (almost comically blown out of proportion) were set to rest; he once again became perky and dangerously curious. He pulled at the seat belt to stretch it, so he could better face his father-prompting an immediate scolding to sit back properly for his safety.

Arthur's mistake had been pressing Alfred gently back into place and rearranging the belt to lie correctly.

He hadn't realized that his hands were what had caught Alfred's eye and Alfred latched onto them gleefully.

Bugger, he really should've removed the jewelry in his jaunt over. God, he looked ridiculous. Those airport workers would no doubt tell all of their coworkers what a terrible father 'Mr. Kirkland' was-too busy having a nightlife to bother picking his child up in a timely manner.

"You're dressed so cool" Alfred admired-snapping a few of the bracelets. The little fingers immediately began exploring the rings on Arthur's fingers. Arthur felt a little annoyed as one was was outright plucked from his finger-so Alfred could better ogle it.

So help him, if he dropped that sapphire ring in the darkness of the cab's floorboard...

The boy tried it on several fingers before coming to the disappointing realization that all of his fingers were much too small.

Which killed his enthusiasm stone dead...and the ring was swiftly pushed back into Arthur's hands.

Both hands quit their pursuit, laced themselves together, and retreated to lay reservedly in Alfred's lap.

Arthur sighed and removed an old signet ring from his left little finger. Birds usually commented on it for being so "vintage."

He wondered idly if Alfred would even recognize it; it was an old, heavy iron thing.

Ages ago, it seemed that he was constantly having to fish it out of the boy's collection of toys.

He slid it onto Alfred's thumb-where it was still too large but a closer fit than the other ring by far.

Alfred admired it in the in light of the intersection-fingers rubbing across it.

"Why don't you dress for more meetings like this?"

He balked at the idea. While he occasionally came in a leather jacket and bandanna on casual meeting days, there was no way he'd come dressed in concert gear.

No. He was a gentleman even when he was dressed in such trappings as this.

"Of-of course not-that's absurd-completely unprofessional-"

"You don't dress like this when you visit me either. You..." Apparently the child had an unhappy epiphany and sat back-cheeks puffing as he fumed, "You...you do fun stuff when I'm not around!"

He fully expected the ring to be chucked at his head, and was surprised when the boy held it closer.

He shook his head; he _**would**_ be needing that back eventually.

Thankfully the late hour and jet lag soon dissipated the child's anger and before long he was leaning against Arthur. By the time they arrived at the house, his eyelids were drooping and he yawned every few minutes.

Arthur paid the driver, moved the luggage out, and lifted the tired child up into his arms. Once Alfred was balanced on his hip, he pulled the rolling luggage with his free hand.

He was shocked that his actions weren't met with violent protest. Usually, Alfred would insist on doing everything and would've dragged himself and his luggage up the stairs even if it killed him. Perhaps this was a happy side effect of their reconciliation? Perhaps, Alfred would no longer rail against every action he took in regards to him and would defer to him more often?

Arthur was still proud the child had patiently waited (for several hours) for him to arrive at the airport rather than trying to pull something foolhardy.

"You smell funny" the child informed him sleepily as he buried his cold nose in Arthur's neck, the iron ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

Alas, considering where he'd been and the substances his fellow concert-goers had been partaking in, he was certain he did. A quick shower would be in order after he introduced Americat to Camelot's litter box.

Alfred sighed and mumbled into his shoulder, "I'm glad you're okay. I was worried something bad happened to you. That it was your turn now..."

Arthur kissed his cheek, "Everything's alright, love."

True, it wasn't the stress free evening he'd envisioned for himself at all. Running out on a concert he'd been looking forward to, nearly getting into a brawl, once again being dragged into the eye of the storm that was Alfred F. Kirk...Jones? Kirkland.

Later, as he toweled his hair off, he contemplated Alfred's passed out form on the bed: He'd barely managed to change into his pajamas (the shirt was on backwards) before he'd slumped in exhaustion. Oddly enough he still had one welly on.

Arthur gently removed it and set about getting the boy tucked in properly.

Arthur had figured it made more sense to share his bed for the night. The guest room's linens needed to be changed and it was too late at night to go to so much trouble….

Besides, if Alfred did experience a night terror he'd be right there.

Arthur smoothed the rumpled sleeve of his own pajama shirt and finished turning the lights off-leaving just one dim one on for America on the off chance he awoke and felt disoriented.

As he slid under the covers, he caught sight of Hop held tightly in Alfred's left hand. No sooner had Arthur settled in, the child wriggled closer-instinctively seeking out warmth.

He took that moment to gently remove the ring from Alfred's other hand and set it on the bedside table.

The now empty little hand sought new conquest: and would've satisfied itself with a handful of Arthur's pajamas had Arthur not intervened. He gently took the hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze.

No; not quite the festive night he had planned, but he wouldn't write it off as bad per se.

Arthur yawned as Alfred's face pressed into his shirt and he realized that Alfred had flung Hop atop of him. The stuffed animal was now laying splayed across his shoulder-nearly nose to nose with the Englishman.

He gave a soft chuckle as he recalled countless other nights where this was the norm.

Yes.

It was just another night of being a father.

 _"You have a kid?"_

Why yes. Yes, he did.

Said kid sighed happily as Arthur bid him goodnight.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : D


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Monty Python and their line: 'things explode everyday.' Or Marvel Comics  & Spiderman. Or Tetris the game. Or CrunchyRoll. Or Crayola. Or Attack on Titan. Or the _Friday the 13th_ movie sound: Cheecheecheechee Ahahahahah. Or Orwell's _1984_ : Newspeak. Or Jenny Craig. Or Rock Band video game. And whatever else crops up...

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). I watch too many horror movies XD. None of England's bros show up in this chap. Texas loves his boots and not being able to take them all with him, makes him ornery. England nags; he just does-even when he's in a good mood. The Phrase "Divide and Conquer" refers to weakening a group by causing/encouraging dissent among them-this makes them easier for a leader to control (or conquer). "Theory of Indirect Approach" was coined by B. H. Liddell Hart-He researched the best tactics for armored warfare (i.e. tanks). According to U.K. news articles, apparently Westminster Palace needs some serious TLC... :( In other unrelated news, apparently automatic toilets are a matter of contention across the pond-with many disliking them for various reasons. IMHO it's the automatic faucets you should distrust-some just don't like you and won't turn on and others are so stingy you'll never rinse off all the suds properly. Bed-sharing. Arthur was a mischievous little tyke. England's rats are becoming immune to poisons and getting ginormous DDD : Cultural differences between the U.K. and the U.S.A. In the U.S. we drive a lot (a lot of areas are far away from one another, certain places aren't set up for pedestrian use and you can actually get written up for strolling by an interstate highway or jaywalking anywhere). In the U.K. they walk a lot which makes sense given the layout of their cities (shockingly however, jaywalkers fend for themselves there! It's considered your own personal responsibility to cross the road safely. No fines, perhaps, but no pity either XD) Other differences: In the U.K. culturally, they tend to be on the reserved side and can be embarrassed to be "called out"...even when they sort of deserve it. And it's very American to be blunt for the sake of humor especially in the circumstance of acknowledging an awkward situation (whether the joke lands though...depends entirely on the surrounding crowd). Brief Reference to "England and the Ghost at America's House" strip. Another Arthur and Alfred-centric chapter.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! They keep me in it to win it! Whoo! And now I'm officially spoiling you guys with a quick update. Inspiration happened to kick in and this chap came out surprisingly fast. We'll see how swiftly the next chap comes to me (no promises). But for now, enjoy and have a great weekend! : D

 **Chapter 10: B.B.W.A.H.G.E.L.**

* * *

"...fred..."

Alfred turned over and snuggled deeper into the pillow.

"Aaaaalfred" the high pitched sing-song voice called again.

"-up, up, up now..."

A paw tapped his nose. A-americat? He thought blearily.

"Wake up, up, up!"

'Cept his cat couldn't talk…

Blue eyes snapped open to see a green bunny with wings hovering inches from his nose.

"EEP!"

He saw it last time he was here! Maybe it was like an omen or something! He scurried back-bumping into the headboard.

"Good morning Alfred! Teeheehee" the flying rabbit thing greeted.

"Mint!" Arthur scolded as he exited the closet on the other side of the room-buttoning his shirt. "I told you to leave him be. Now you've gone and frightened him! She's harmless dear, nothing for you to fear-"

Alfred frowned and straightened himself out of the fetal position, "Tch...I'm n-not scared."

No way. He was the hero and he was totally over his fear from Mr. Creeper at the airport last night...almost...

He looked over to see Arthur pulling a dark grey sweater over his head.

"Awww, you're not dressing cool today."

Arthur blushed a bit but ignored his comment, blithely continuing with "Well, I suppose it can't be helped." He gave Mint a great scowl, before meeting Alfred's gaze, "You're awake now and we really do need to start the day. I'll need to go by the grocery store and pick up a few items, come home and have lunch, then I need to make some business phone calls at my office, I have a meeting with the House of Lords in the afternoon, and we can have dinner after, something out most likely."

He looked at Alfred expectantly.

"Oh…" Alfred murmured.

Right. They couldn't just hang out. Arriving early really messed up his dad's plans and he knew firsthand how hard it could be to execute the preparation side of an event when something unexpected happened in the days leading up. He didn't want his dad to feel that he was now behind because of him.

 _Make a good impression. Come on Al, redeem yourself!_

He clapped his hands together in determination, "Kay! What do you want me to do? Should I vacuum or alphabetize something or are there dishes-"

Arthur blinked, "...Hmm?"

"You're busy today" Alfred repeated back to him "So we'll _divide and conquer._ So you can have more free time tomorrow."

Arthur paused as he tied his tie, "Dearheart, that's...that isn't what that quote means."

"Are you sure? Tex and I use it all the time. Ya know to-to, well, to ambush people. We split up. One is the Distracter. The other is the Sneak-upper. And then the Sneak-upper has the element of surprise. And because he attacks first, the attention goes off of the Distracter and then the Distracter can attack with an element of surprise too! We conquer like that .Time. Cuz if it ain't broke don't fix it."

"I see" Arthur replied steadily, tucking his tie under the sweater. "Go on."

"Sooo. While you're out doing stuff, I can be here doing stuff. Aaaaand apart but together we...we'll-we'll-we'll CONQUER your To Do List!" He finished, pleased with himself for coming up with such a good plan; especially when Arthur smiled fondly at him.

"Ah, the good ol' _indirect approach_ " Arthur nodded "That's very kind of you to offer. But you're coming with me, so you'll need to get dressed."

Alfred frowned, "I'm not gonna destroy your house while you're not here, I promise. That time with the vase really was an accident. And it was ugly anyway. Plus, I don't bust through windows as much anymore, the ER and the NYPD gave me a warning."

Arthur ignored him and approached the red, white, and blue suitcase.

"H-hey!" he crawled over to the end of the bed "Personal property! You can't just unzip-"

ZZZZZZZzzzzzzip.

Arthur groaned in dismay, "I knew it; video games. What is all this, Alfred?"

"It's a vacation, right? Soooo I gotta get my game on. You'll like _Rock Band,_ I know it!"

Arthur had already picked up a plastic guitar and was eyeing it curiously. He shook his head and set it back down, "Where are you your clothes?"

"There. On the side."

"This isn't…this…"

"I packed everything! Just in case. And I...I figured I could just wash them..."

Arthur pulled out the miniature army uniform with a weird expression.

He stared at it unblinkingly for several beats.

"I did my evaluation in that" Alfred explained.

Arthur paused, nodded a bit stiffly, and rather woodenly folded it and replaced it in the luggage. He selected the red button down shirt, the black sweater, and a pair of navy blue jeans and underwear.

"You-you" Alfred blushed. Man, it was super embarrassing to see someone handle his undergarments, and the fact that Arthur didn't bat an eye made him feel like a prude.

"Get dressed. Brush your teeth. I'll see you in the kitchen."

* * *

Arthur sighed as he tied his black apron on over his clothes.

Mint zoomed by setting a teacup at his spot.

"Thank you Mint."

She bobbed midair-her version of a curtsy.

He smiled and set down napkins and silverware for himself and Alfred.

When content with the table, he pulled a small notepad from a nearby drawer and added 'clothes shopping' to its list of tasks.

In reality, it was good to catch that early before the others arrived.

He had quite a few formal events planned and for Alfred to only have one semi-presentable outfit…

Oh that could've been so embarrassing for him.

He didn't have any nice shoes, or belts, or ties.

Didn't even have a single dress coat.

Nearly all of his wardrobe was comprised of what Arthur had bought him over the past few weeks. The exceptions being some Hawaiian shirts which would do him no good here and a miniature uniform which-which...dammit...it made his heart hurt to imagine the child wearing it.

Viewing child sized suits of armor on display in museums had a similar effect. Made him nauseous as he thought of little bodies wearing them. While, they were usually for ceremonial purposes, festivities, and occasionally a competition or two...without proper padding they could injure child flesh so easily. Even the better fitted suits were still restrictive for little ones.

He was overjoyed when children's clothing had become a focus of tailors through the 1800s. Children could look nice and be more comfortable. It did wonders for many of his charges' temperaments-cutting out a great amount of fussing and backsass. Australia stopped stripping down as often (which for a while had been so frequent that the maids stopped being scandalized).

Not to mention England had never been fond of insisting that a ten year old Barbados wear her whalebone stays-especially when she didn't like how they chafed her skin and squeezed her ribs and England didn't like how they restricted her freedom of movement. Suppose an event should arise where she needed to move quickly to get herself out of danger?

He'd fired multiple servants and nannies over the years who tried to do tightlacing on the girl. Her collapsing at a ball, did not a festive evening make.

Maybe the seed of dismay was planted when Alfred was breeched far too soon, but from then on he'd always found it a bit disconcerting forcing children to dress like little adults.

Should that little military outfit be worn and make its way to the laundry room, Arthur vowed to destroy it.

He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove-breathing a bit heavily from the force of emotion rising in him.

He'd take him out tomorrow after he handed a report in-make a day of it.

"Arthur?" Mint asked.

"Yes?" He replied as he riffled through his basket of blends. Earl Grey? His preferred. Or perhaps Chamomile? To calm himself down.

"Arthur, when do you plan to present him?"

"...?" He raised a great brow.

"Her Royal Highness is most curious about him as are most of the clans. Do you already know what kind of magic he possesses? If not, we'd all be happy to assist and-"

Arthur barely managed not to drop the basket and chose Chamomile. Yes, definitely Chamomile today.

"Mint, he's not ready. No, he's...he's still recovering from-from a very _**traumatic**_ reintroduction to-to-to all of this. Maybe next year. Or better. Next Yule. Yes, tell them that. In fact, come back tomorrow night. I'll pen two letters for both Courts."

Fae were dreadfully tricky. He would need to outline his desires on paper and specify a particular date. If he dared use so vague a term as "next year," they might all ambush poor Alfred on January 1st.

Mint shuddered "Oh don't send me down there."

Arthur sighed, "Look up Old Man Lome in York then, he'll be happy to be of use."

The Thrummy Cap cornered Arthur every now and then as he passed through the old castles in Northern England (usually on his way to do business with Scotland). The old elf always prattled on about making things right with him for some imagined slight he did in years past. But whenever Arthur demanded more information, he'd clam up and find a reason to flee. Arthur suspected that whatever it was, he'd either forgotten or was too embarrassed to say and so it remained an amusing mystery.

"He'll leap at the offer to lend his aid." Arthur rested his head thoughtfully on his chin. "Might work out best that way. Both monarchs should receive their letter at the same time. Yes. Good. Do that. That way we won't have to deal with either of them feeling jealous that the other received theirs ' _first_.'"

Last thing he needed during his winter plans, was enduring petty fairy vengeance over something so trivial as post.

The microwave dinged. He opened the door of the device and reached in.

Well, the bowl seemed warm enough but...perhaps a bit longer.

He added more time and sent it through again.

Mint hovered nearby, "Are you sure? They'll be awfully disappointed. Especially after Sealand..."

Yes.

The fairies had been gravely disappointed that Sealand lacked 'The Sight.'

But that was a split for you: no one ever knew precisely how a split would turn out.

Poor lad shared his love of all things nautical but didn't glean a spec of magic from him. That had resulted in quite a few disappointed mermaids and water sprites. Rumor had it, they had planned to make quite a playmate out of him.

At times, he felt a bit sad for the boy-to miss out on their more tender attentions.

Reilley's split which went onto become the Republic of Ireland had become quite the darling of the Seelie Court.

Last he'd heard, they'd crafted her a beautiful carriage-shaped daybed and were often sending her whimsical little pinafores and dolls.

Early on, Arthur had done what he could for the boy-providing necessities. But he was genuinely glad that Sweden had taken the boy on.

It was rather hard to be close with a split; they were a living embodiment of how dire your situation had been-the land or in his case sea had absorbed enough of his and his men's blood that it conjured a sort of...America would probably describe it in Video Game Terms as a 'Second Player.' Which could then be used if the first should…

Yes, it was difficult to foster positive feelings toward the boy, who was a combination brother-ish clone? Or rather sprig? Or perhaps a starfish was a more accurate organism to explain the-

Regardless, he was a constant reminder of the Second World War.

It didn't help that he seemed to encompass more of England's less than savory qualities: resentful, overly sensitive, whinging little thing that refused to be held accountable for whatever troubles he caused himself.

Arthur sighed; all the most tiresome bits of himself really.

No. That was monstrously unfair. Sealand couldn't help that. And England did want him to be happy; was honestly glad he'd bonded with Sweden and made friends with other micronations and what not. England had worried about the amount of solitude the child endured. In the past, he'd sent crates of books but the child didn't seem to really share his love of literature-preferring comic books and games instead.

"O Arthur!"

He jolted back to the moment at hand.

"Everyone's already talking about him. Some think you were hiding him on purpose."

God save him from fae conspiracy theorists, "I wasn't hiding him. I just...didn't know."

"Well not everyone believes that."

Arthur frowned.

"Some say you'd have to be pretty daft not to know your own son staring you in the face at all your little meetings."

Arthur glared.

"Not me, Arthur" she said a bit too demurely "But I have overheard that! Almost word for word. And you must admit, it does seem unlikely. More fit for one of Shakespeare's plays than-"

"So you're all just gossipping then, hmm? No Fairy Wars, no revenge schemes, no wedding plans going on at present, so it's perfectly fine to discuss me and mine at length?"

It was rather alarming that the news had already travelled so swiftly. He'd thought he'd have more time-especially since Alfred's magic was still sickly enough that he couldn't imagine they'd sensed him already. The poor lamb, even with his Harvest ritual replenishing him, Scotland and Northern Ireland had admitted on their plane ride home that they still couldn't feel him.

Alistair had even gone on to say, _'I've stood beside tables with greater magic signatures.'_

"Do you know what kind of magic Alfred has? There's a rumor but-"

"Land."

Her ears perked.

"Truly? How did you find out? What did he do? Did he know? Was it a great surprise? Are you excited? Are you disappointed? How skilled-"

"That's all you get. Go. Spread it. Gnaw on it to your hearts' content."

"O Albion!" she grumbled using his archaic name to signal her displeasure "You can be so mean sometimes. We're all just excited you know! Been a long time since a birth!"

"I know" he crumbled the leaves with a thoughtful expression "And I look forward to properly presenting him to you all-given of course that you all behave. And don't tease him. Or frighten him. And keep your hands to yourself; I don't need him catching pixie pox (the unicorns told me that one's made a resurgence lately). At present, I must see to his needs first. He isn't ready and I don't intend to rush him. If either Court has issue with that, they can take it up with _**me**_."

He cast a wary glance at her-partially to gauge how she reacted; if she was miffed by his remarks, than the other fae would be furious.

Instead, she looked terribly amused, "Goodness Arthur, you sound like such a father. I remember when you would coat yourself in mud and pretend to be a witch's golem to infiltrate Goblin bases and give them faulty orders for the fun of it. Whereever has our adventurous Alby gone? He's left behind such a cautious, responsible man."

He swatted halfheartedly at her, "Overgrown housefly."

She giggled again and perched on the pot rack as Alfred galloped in, hair dripping, shirt untucked. He would've tripped over the undone laces of his trainers had Arthur's reflexes been a tick slower.

As he settled him on his feet, he ordered "Sit down and lace those up now."

Alfred sighed but acquiesced while Arthur donned his mitts and removed the bowl from the microwave-nodding at the bubbling mixture. Finally warm enough!

"You washed?" He asked as he set the oatmeal at Alfred's place.

"Yup. Shower every day" Alfred replied with a grin. "Besides, I was in an airport. Tons of people means tons of germs. Actually should've done it last night but-"

Arthur scoffed and warned the boy to air out the towels and use them at least three times before throwing them in the laundry room. Otherwise he'd wear the towels ragged by over washing them. And there was a hair dryer under the sink. After breakfast he should make use of it-

"Before you catch your death of cold" he warned sternly.

He tried to ignore Mint's laughter.

When Alfred demanded to know what was so funny.

She replied: Arthur.

Which apparently was as good a punchline as any for the boy, because he joined right in giggling.

* * *

Alfred sighed-wishing that he could've chilled with Mint back at Arthur's place-because One: Mint seemed pretty cool-up for teasing Arthur in a friendly way. He bet she knew all sorts of embarrassing stories about him. And Two: he'd noticed that the old man's movies were in desperate need of attention. It had surprised him to find that unlike his hoards of books, Arthur didn't keep them in immaculate order. Alfred checked to see if they were in an alternate categorization pattern like production date or historical era or genre but no...

All just...willy nilly.

He thought he'd be able to do it after lunch. While pit stopping at England's house for...siiiiigh... _ **more**_ sandwiches (Alfred was gonna have to find some way to pump in some variety for their daily menu) he began dropping hints that he needed a nap. It had worked so well back home-Arthur would usually clear his schedule of everything to make sure he could catch some z's. But now he was met with resistance.

" _It's the time difference, love. You need to try to adhere to the hours here as best you can or you won't sleep well tonight."_

But what was really getting to him was all the walking.

And they walked, frickin' walked, EVERYWHERE or rode 'The Tube'...ya know...after walking to it.

England had presented him with a travelcard for riding which had been really nice and unexpected in the moment and he'd gushed his thanks over it happily. If he'd have known he'd have to get on and off and on and off and make switches...and "mind the gap"...

Geez. One day in and his feet were killing him. Was the whole trip gonna be like this?

Didn't sign up for Jenny Craig.

The time they spent over at Westminster Palace should've been a reprieve, since the old building had always been pretty cool and its architecture made him geek out as he thought of Gothic novels.

He wasn't a regular here so it wasn't quite as painful being presented as he was now (runty). But the ones who did know him before the downsizing…

They were too well bred to comment on his new form after Arthur's breezy explanation that 'America's age had adjusted itself to its true value,' but...the stares.

God, the stares. They seemed to come from everyone. Contrary to popular belief, he really only preferred all eyes on him when he was doing something super amazing. Standing awkwardly at England's side, both of them in sweaters, wasn't really his top choice on making an impression.

It was a relief when Arthur ushered him over to his office and closed the door.

As Arthur prepped for business phone calls, he pulled out a coloring book for Alfred from his briefcase-murmuring that he was glad he'd gone ahead and bought it when he had.

It should've been patronizing...but it was Marvel! So it was cool! And Arthur had splurged and gotten him one of those fancy 50 count Crayola sets. Washable.

Alfred ended up getting to sit in Arthur's seat as he colored because it turned out Arthur was a 'walker talker'-Making laps around the office as he discussed business.

America was just finishing up Spiderman's red costumed feet, when England told him it was time for his meeting; a closed session, but Alfred was welcome to entertain himself on Arthur's computer should he want to play solitaire or watch a movie or whatnot.

It was better than he'd expected; he'd planned on doing that regardless-but it was good to have his dad's blessing. When he couldn't weasel out of coming, he'd brought some earbuds and figured he'd binge watch some anime on CrunchyRoll. His prior captivity meant he had a lot of catching up to do.

Now, he knew from the get go that it would be a long meeting (Arthur had said they'd be getting dinner afterward) but he suspected it was going longer because they were taking a crazy amount of breaks.

The third time Arthur popped his head in to "check" on Alfred, the American had wryly commented, "Nope, sorry, still haven't combusted into fire."

"Well, _'things explode everyday_ '" The Briton quipped right back.

Not expecting a rebuttal, Alfred's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he tried and failed to keep a volley going which made Arthur laugh and ruffle his hair.

"I feel bad for your plant" Alfred commented on the rather pitiful green-brown plant exiled to a far corner of the desk.

The dying thing kept catching his eye. Some kind of miniature rose, if he wasn't mistaken. He reached a hand to brush against its withered leaves.

"Oh I know, the poor thing" Arthur agreed a bit dismissively "I forgot to ask someone to water it in my stead."

A leaf broke off under Alfred's touch. "That's no good" he muttered.

"Don't fret poppet, it was rather temperamental to begin with. I swear I never had such a moody rose bush. I think it's rather telling. A gift from the Prime Minister. Would be bad form to toss it in the bin, but if it doesn't perk up soon..."

He checked his watch, "Oh dear, time already. Remember, the lavatory is down the hall to your right. And should, God forbid, you become lost somehow don't hesitate to ask someone for help. Alright?"

Alfred nodded.

"Good lad. Now when it's over with, what say you to fish and chips, hmm? Been awhile since you've had authentic-"

"Like I'm gonna turned down fried food!"

"See you after then."

"Kay!"

He finished three depressing episodes of _Attack on Titan_ , colored two pages with _Captain America_ on it, talked a little bit to Texas (who was in a mood because he had to choose which boots would make the great journey across the Atlantic), and then decided he needed a little walk to stretch his legs. Maybe he could ask where a dude er...right... _bloke_ could find a vending machine.

He'd barely made it down the hall before the sensation of being watched fell over him. Sure enough there were multiple people in business attire watching him-some more subtly than others.

He gave an awkwardly loud and cheerful: "Hello everybody creepily staring at me! My name's Alfred!"

Only, instead of breaking the ice the way it would in America-because it usually got people to laugh or ham it up by making the 'Friday the 13th sounds'-it startled all the adults back to working and ignoring him...some going so far as to turn around completely.

Damn, cultural differences.

Great. Now, he'd messed up again and he didn't even know what he did wrong! He tried to ignore it because he was America. He was supposed to be used to everyone acting like this around him.

But as he moved on, he heard several under the breath words including:

" _...American..."_

" _...to be expected..."_

" _...spectacle…"_

" _...odd…"_

He felt his body heat up and all intentions of questing for food was abandoned.

Damn his touchy feely-ness. Lately, he was like a big ol' bundle of nerves...or maybe more like a landmine. Anything could set him off and he'd just fly to pieces. First, something as simple and stupid as not being able to immediately get a hold of Arthur the night before had rattled him and he'd ended up latching onto him like a baby spidermonkey. And now! Now…

Now...a couple of whispered comments had him holing up in the men's restroom (after setting down a bunch of seat protectors in various directions for hygiene).

Nothing like playing several hundred rounds of Tetris on your phone to get your mind off judgy people.

Ah Tetris...it was one of the few "safe" topics that his president didn't mind him talking/texting to Russia about. Everything else required him to write out his thoughts and send it through various aides to get approval. To make sure it wasn't "charged."

 _Damn you Orwellian PC-ness! Frickin' Newspeak!_

Flip. Flip. Flip it. Good. And Set.

Flip-Fli-

There was a scampering sound up high. He instinctively looked up but didn't see anything beyond the peeling ceiling.

Ack!

Flipflipflip! Quick! Before the next multi-colored block piece floated down the screen.

One of the faucets briefly turned on and then off.

Weird…cuz he didn't hear anybody enter...

Then the overhead lights flickered ominously.

Oh. Crap.

His phone made the "losing" sound of defeat but he didn't care.

Not compared to THIS.

The lights dimmed and flickered and dimmed again; this time it was the light right over his stall.

Oh God!

He'd violated the rules of B.B.W.A.H.G.E.L. (The H was silent) and now it was coming to bite him in the butt. Hard.

And no; B.B.W.A.H.G.E.L. wasn't a breakfast item.

After intense examination of horror literature and cinema along with some vigorous research done by scrolling through ghost hunter blogs and biographies, he'd had an epiphany! A tried and true correlation between hauntings and sites. Because ghosts were jerks, they liked to strike when people were vulnerable.

Therefore... **B** asements, **B** athrooms, **W** oods, **A** ttics, **H** ospitals, **G** raveyeards, **E** levators, aaaaaand **L** aundromats were ALL places to avoid if you suspected supernaturally-ness.

Another long scratch echoed in the restroom and this time it sounded so much closer.

He took a deep breath and tried not to whimper as he slid his cellphone into his pocket. Because really, what use was a phone in this instance? British operators just weren't gonna buy 'Help me, I'm being haunted' as a legitimate emergency.

Scraaaaatch.

He felt his heart start to pound.

Oh God. Oh God.

Now it was in the stall next to him.

Another long scratching sound. Lower. Lower

His whole body tensed up and he slowly stood up and reached for the bolt on his stall door.

The plan was to dash to the exit-no looking back.

There was a clacking sound (like nails tapping) and then-

The door to the men's restroom banged open, "Alfred? Son, are you alright?"

Now!

He swung the door open and charged for his Dad-barreling into his legs.

"Oompf" Arthur grabbed at the wall to keep himself upright. "Goodness. Are you alright? You're white as a sheet. What's got you all-"

"PARLIAMENT IS HAUNTED!"

Wide green eyes stared at him.

"Go go go go go! Run!" He pushed desperately at Arthur's legs trying to make him budge.

"Dear-"

"Haunted!"

"Sweet-"

"Ghosts!"

"Yes! I know but-"

"Save me!"

"How about you wash your hands and then I'll rescue you," Arthur negotiated.

Alfred gave him a scandalized look and then stomped over to the faucet grumbling, "Good to know that when the forensic team examines me they'll note that I have clean hands."

No sooner did he wipe them off, Arthur picked him up and exited the restroom.

"Rescued" Arthur announced as they entered the hall. "Now who did you see?" he questioned earnestly, "Fawkes? Or perhaps a penitent criminal? Or maybe-"

"You...you...you KNOW this place is haunted?!"

"Go on now, describe who it is you saw and I'll try to match them up. You should feel flattered; the ghosts here don't often present themselves to visitors."

"W-well, I didn't really see but there was scampering and scratching, and lights going on and off and-"

Arthur groaned.

"Huh? Wh-what? Is it not a ghost? Is it something worse? I always see scary ghosty stuff whenever you're around. Like that time at home, when you managed to rouse one!"

"Come to find out that was actually _**worse**_ than a ghost. I learned from Mathieu in the morning, that it just so happened that Fra-"

"It's all your Black Magic! It attracts the creepy! _**I**_ watch documentaries; they say you gotta watch out for that stuff" Alfred scolded, pointing an accusing finger "It opens portals and things and-Oh. My. God. Oh my god...it's a demon! And it's taken over the bathroom! The lascivious no-good perv-"

"No," Arthur interrupted, readjusting his hold on Alfred, "Dearheart, not that the building isn't haunted. It is."

Alfred shuddered and curled closer. Arthur gave him a gentle squeeze, which he hated to admit...did make him feel a teensy bit better.

"But it's an old building and with the Thames nearby, rats have always been an issue. Worse, it seems they're getting resistant to poison and becoming...well...a concerning size."

Alfred shuddered again, "Ewww."

Arthur shrugged, "I'll alert the staff that we need more traps and I'll start bringing Camelot in regularly again. Perhaps Americat would care to join? He's a mouser, isn't he?"

"I dunno. Will he be safe? The ghosts-"

"Will do neither him or yourself any harm. Just a presence really."

America couldn't hold back another shiver and he dug his hands tightly into Arthur's sweater-eyeing all the old fixtures suspiciously as if a phantom could swoop down from anywhere.

"But, but, but...the lights were doing that horror movie flicker thing."

"Likely chewed through the wiring again" He gave Alfred another squeeze, "Now, more importantly. Are you alright? Tom said you were in there for _**quite**_ some time and-"

Alfred blushed. Great. Now they all thought he had digestive issues.

"Y-Ya know people shouldn't j-j-judge on this sort of stuff-After all people have different definitions of what constitutes a long time and-"

"Two hours is a long time, mite."

* * *

It took Arthur a while to convince Alfred that there weren't any ghosts out to get him. It took even longer to get him to walk on his own rather than cling to his father like a koala to a tree.

While Arthur was glad that his child had at long last warmed up to the idea of seeking comfort from him again, his back and shoulders could use a break now and then...especially after a long day at work.

They grabbed a bite at a family owned restaurant England had enjoyed for years. Not the sort of place Barbados or Canada would approve of, but America liked it fine.

England had oohed and hummed (taking care not to be too terribly cheeky) as Alfred showed off the pages he'd fully colored. Not too much effort was exhausted on his part; it was clear Alfred's art skills were improving. He was starting to factor in the effects of light and shadow. The technique was clumsy and the transition between shades wasn't quite right. It was a good attempt though, Arthur felt proud of his boy. Perhaps, Mathieu would give his brother a few tips.

One could tell the rigors of their day had caught up to them by the zeal in which they tucked into their meal.

Arthur was pleased to say the spot was consistently tasty; the haddock had been savory, the chips perfectly crisped, and the one glass of ale warmed his stomach and made him feel relaxed and pleasant. Though he did have to be on guard. Alfred, the sneaky little snipe, tried to steal a sip when Arthur was distracted by football on the telly! Thankfully, they'd reached for the glass at the same time and the attempt was foiled.

When Arthur warned him not to do it again, Alfred argued that he was practically raised on barley and he'd been haunted and needed to "take the edge off". Arthur's response was to take a deep swallow of the amber liquid, reach across the table and tweak Alfred's nose.

"No pints for a half pint. We'll visit the pubs again when you're older. My treat."

Which had earned him a rather fierce scowl that immediately faded when he told him that in the meanwhile he could choose any biscuit he wanted.

On the way back, in an overcrowded subway, Arthur had held onto a hanging strap and Alfred held onto him. While he could've sent the boy to one of the less occupied stanchions at the end and spared his leg the tourniquet that was Alfred's overzealous arms-it was best to have him close; if not to ensure his safety, than to act as a mediator.

The child complained a little that it was unsettling how nobody spoke or made eye contact. Too serious. Too stifling. Which made Arthur blush a bit as several fellow travellers gave them a look. He quietly replied that it was simply how it was here and that people liked it quiet after a long day's work-it was more relaxing that way. The boy nodded and sighed and held Arthur's leg a little tighter.

Arthur tried to focus on something else while his free hand nestled itself in the child's hair.

Arthur had to bark "Mind the Gap" as they disembarked. The child seemed to forget each time and he barely spared the boy a harsh trip.

By the time they arrived home, the child was spent and flopped himself onto the couch in front of the telly.

Arthur decided it was a good time to start drafting those letters for the two courts. Having different ideologies, each letter required certain phrasing and finesse to ensure a favorable reading.

He looked up briefly from his desk, when the door to his room opened. He stretched lightly as he watched Alfred approach his luggage.

"There's fresh linen in your room next door. I changed it this morning, so you can roll your luggage over there. The wardrobe has plenty of hangers." And plenty of space, he'd taken care to remove the adult clothing that had been hanging inside and put them in a storage bin. He'd noticed that whenever Alfred encountered outfits which no longer fit, he had a tendency to become melancholy for hours so Arthur thought he'd do the prudent thing and put them out of sight. If the boy DID ask where the clothing had gone, he wouldn't hesitate to tell him though.

"No way" Alfred muttered as he put on his jammies and slipped into Arthur's bed.

He raised an eyebrow-not quite sure how to gracefully handle the situation. It wasn't that he was against bed-sharing. It was a fairly recent phenomena that the Western World came to be so opposed to it. Long through the 1800s, beds were expensive and winters were bitterly cold-it was practical.

Perhaps, he was just a tad bit surprised that Alfred was choosing to rest with him. Most of the other nights (between exhaustion and night terrors) it had been largely involuntary.

Though…

' _Daddy...Can...can I...can I...have a hug?'_

Was he feeling lonely? Had he remembered something sad? Did he want to talk? Did he need a cuddle?

"Alfred?"

"Safety in numbers."

Ah, he was still on about the "ghosts."

"Dearheart, you didn't see a ghost."

"Nope. I heard one."

Arthur shook his head. Perhaps it was for the best, that he stay; that overactive imagination could well conjure some potent nightmares this night.

An hour later (satisfied with his drafts and determined to copy them over tomorrow afternoon on his best parchment) he looked up from his desk to find that Alfred had fallen asleep and both cats had infiltrated the room.

Taking that as a signal to turn in for the night, he changed into his nightclothes and set his alarm before getting into bed.

Worried Americat was going to suffocate his owner under his bulk, he carefully maneuvered him off Alfred's head.

Thankfully, he was a friendly thing and didn't nip at him. Unfortunately, the great hulking cat interpreted his actions to mean that Arthur wanted his affections and then became determined to nestle on top of him.

"No you silly beast. To the foot of the bed with you" he deposited the heavy animal there where it gave him a positively mournful look.

Arthur scoffed and laid back only to be approached by an attention starved Camelot. He gave the Scottish Fold an affectionate scratch behind the ear.

Poor thing was getting lonely. Perhaps, Sunday they could have a "stay at home" day and indulge the pets a bit.

Camelot stared at Alfred as though he wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

"You know him Camelot. It's Alfred. You like Alfred. He brought you that green squeak toy you love so dearly."

The Fold made a very soft meow and pushed against Arthur's hand.

He gave the animal a few more pets and then draped an arm over Alfred.

Alfred cracked an eye and blearily told him "G'night. Don't let the ghosts eat me."

"I shan't."

"Good man."

"Anytime, dear."

"Just don't get bit either. kay?"

"I won't."

"Lest...pirate zombie…captain."

"Goodnight Sweetling."

"Aye aye, Sir."

* * *

Read & Review Please! It feeds me. : D


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or SparkNotes. Or Google-Translate.

 **Warning:** Profanity! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). I binged on Celtic music on Youtube. Here in the U.S., getting a good looking DL and Passport Photo is...difficult (coughalmostimpossiblecough). The size of American wallets vs foreign currency. Leaving out food for fairies as "thanks." Knot of Four Hearts. King Midas. Some more shameless tie-ins with Wendigo...because...continuity : D Cotton socks aren't good winter socks because once they're wet they lose their ability to keep feet dry and no longer provide support….so your feet are likely to feel sore and cold (might even blister or worse!) Arthur feels philosophic. Sleep deprivation makes monsters of and you'll miss it-reference to the Wars of Scottish Independence. Fluffy fluff fluff-ness.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! We've broken the 400 mark! Wooo! (Even Wendigo picked up a few more XD). I love seeing your guy's reactions to each update. Thanks Anonymous, I'm glad you like my butterfly-zigzag-flight-pattern approach to writing. If there is enough interest for a Wild West series I'd consider creating a fic or ficlets for that awesome period in American history. (Especially since I totally have a headcanon of America being a part of the short-lived Pony Express. I can't imagine a more epic mailman than America, can you? XD. Not to mention, I also have a vision of a cheerful Al ^_^ and an unenthusiastic Tex -_- leading people West in covered wagons.)

 **Chapter 11: Only God And The Devil Know Where My Phone Is Now**

* * *

"Interesting, isn't it?" the clerk mused as he adjusted his glasses. "How certain fashions make a recurrence?"

"Yes," Arthur murmured-twining the long string tie between his fingers. "Very."

Red.

The silk ribbon was red.

A vibrant red.

So similar to…

It would be so easy to replace it…

And he _**had**_ destroyed it, even if at the time it was necessary...

His eyes drifted to where two aged tailors were fitting Alfred on a small stool pinching excess fabric…

" _My best thing..."_

Surely it wouldn't hurt to...

No...

He let the ribbon fall.

No…

That time had passed.

It could easily be misconstrued as some attempt to wind back the clock.

Gone was the Age of White...the Age of Red...

He sighed and his eyes drifted to-to...he blinked rapidly-eyes widening-

"Oh!"

Just like his dream!

He couldn't wait to see it on him!

Alfred blinked curiously at him as he approached, "Sooo...exactly how fancy _**is**_ this party ball thing? I mean, this seems a bit mu-"

Arthur carefully tied the silk cravat around the child's neck into a large bow.

"Oh, it does match perfectly" the shop clerks all agreed.

The men encouraged the child to look into the three panel mirror.

"How smart it looks with that blue brocade vest-"

The brunet man nodded at Arthur "an excellent choice, sir."

"Most charming. With his eyes...works very well."

"What do you think, pet?" Arthur asked enthusiastically. "They've several other colors and styles as well. I personally think one white bow tie, one black cravat, one green cravat, a silver, and another lighter shade of blue would serve you well. I had them go ahead and put a pair of braces and sock braces at the counter. If David isn't...exaggerating" here he looked the man squarely in the eye "they can have all three full suits ready by next week."

Alfred stared and then swallowed, "Um...C-can I speak to you?"

He carefully hopped off the stool and dragged Arthur several paces away.

He blinked in surprise. The fingers tugging his sleeve were trembling.

He immediately knelt down and rubbed Alfred's shoulders, "What's wrong? Are you having a panic attack? It's alright if you are. Everything will be alright. Just breathe. Do we need to step out? Do you-"

The child shook his head and swallowed nervously "I-I don't know if I have enough."

"Enough?"

He fumbled with his wallet, "I dunno if I have enough bills-er-notes to cover it."

"Alfred-"

"I mean my card'll be able to cover it. But what if they ask for ID?"

"Alfred-"

"I shoulda asked, but I forgot. My boss and I...it just didn't come up. I know they were trying to rush me through...my passport photo looks dumb...but...I mean...If we run over to...I guess I could go the embassy and let'em figure something out ... just...I'm kinda nervous to carry all that cash on me. I mean just look at how it doesn't fit in my wallet-"

"Alfred" He cupped the child's face.

"Seriously, this makes it waaay too easy for pickpockets to target my people when they're visiting. Where's the challenge?"

He rested his forehead against Alfred's.

"This is my treat."

"Huh? Wha? N-no, I don't-I c-can cover-I just need time to scrounge up-"

"I've missed out on a lot of birthdays. A lot of Christmases. I...please, don't fuss."

He took joy in spoiling his charges when he could afford to; had bought several pianos for Hong Kong through the centuries, had brought over new chic fashions for Barbados and Seychelles even when (he suppressed a shudder) they wanted 'French' designs.

It was usually so hard to buy for America-he usually had to aim for historically significant items like he had for the boy's Bicentennial.

Prideful little thing never let him know what he actually needed in his daily life.

Now though...Now it was obvious that he was in dire need of clothes. Arthur could supply that easily.

"..."

Arthur leaned back, "Now more importantly, do you like it?"

Alfred turned a rather adorable shade of red and nodded.

* * *

Alfred collapsed onto an ottoman letting go of several bags of clothes in the process.

He'd been pinned, fitted, and measured more over the last several hours than he had in decades. He usually performed most alterations himself-so it was still kind of a shock to his penny pinching ways to splurge and have someone else do it for him.

It was an even odder phenomena to have someone else pay. Usually America always had to sign the check for just about everything.

It really surprised him when Arthur had him measured out for a fancy pair of boots that Arthur stated would be included as part of his Christmas gift (effectively killing some of the Yuletide mystery).

Still...the boots would be sturdy and comfortable (as Arthur always insisted they be ever since he was little).

But this time!

This time, there'd be a little etching around the top and across the toes.

Heh, Tex would probably be a little jealous. He was a connoisseur of boots.

He eyed the bags; all filled with jeans, turtlenecks, shirts, dress slacks, and sweaters.

Alfred must've been out of the loop of fashion for too long. He hadn't known about all these...shades-er-degrees of fanciness that Arthur insisted existed between formal and informal. Or that his closet needed the entire spectrum.

Here Alfred had only thought there were work, military, play, church, and fancy...and ya know science-y (like scuba suits and labcoats, etc).

He sighed; he really ought to drag everything upstairs. Arthur was a stickler about things being put away properly before they got creased or dirty-heck he'd probably even double check.

He turned himself over.

He did appreciate the nice warm coat he now had on; long, blue grey, double breasted.

A smile stole across his face.

Sophisticated.

He tapped his (now gloved) fingers against each shiny black button-idly counting them with perhaps a bit too much satisfaction. He remembered when buttons were so expensive that he had to opt for ties and hooks to close his clothing.

He realized too late that Arthur was leaning against the wall, watching him with an amused smirk.

No doubt aware of exactly what he was doing.

"H-hi."

Arthur waved and set down the remaining bags. He gestured to them, "How about you put these away, while I start dinner?"

Eep!

"Uh actually...I-I-"

 _Come on Al, you've probably got a limited amount of Arthur-made-meals that your stomach can handle and you've gotta last a month!_

"I wanted to cook dinner!"

Had to. If he wanted something edible tonight. Really, it was amazing how somewhere between setting ingredients in a pot or an oven to cook and taking them to the table, his dad managed to botch it.

 _Hexed…_

He shook his head the more he remembered, the more often weird stuff like that would float uncontested through his brain.

The thick eyebrows started to furrow with a stormy frown. As they did whenever someone dared critique his cooking skills-or lack thereof. He had to do some fast-talking.

"To...to thank you for-for today."

Really. It was the least he could do; his old man had dropped some serious cash for him...it still made him a bit uncomfortable being...spoiled like that.

His founding fathers and their spouses were probably the last ones to really baby him.

By the 1820s, everybody foisted the 'sink or swim' philosophy on him.

His dad's expression began to clear.

"I thought...I mean, I know we just had fish but...when we went by the store...you picked up stuff and I thought: baked salmon?"

To his relief, England began nodding, "I have asparagus. We can have that as a side. Nice and healthy."

The good thing about England was that he could never have too much fish; the same way Tex could never have too much beef.

The matter decided, England turned on his heel, "I'll set the ingredients out, while you put your things away. You don't want them wrinkling."

"Kay."

* * *

England hummed to himself as he set the dirty plates into the dishwasher. He'd waved off Alfred's help with a simple "run along now, I have everything under control here."

The dinner, while simple, was quite good. And the good natured intention that went into the making of it-made it even better.

After he rinsed and toweled his hands off, he checked the locks and began turning lights off before heading upstairs.

Alfred had at last transitioned his items to the room next door-leaving Arthur an uncluttered floor once more.

Feeling relaxed and a tad nostalgic he copied his letters over with his favorite eagle quill and black ink. Both Courts often commended him for his impressive penmanship. He'd have to ask if Alfred had kept up his skills with the quill. He'd seen several impressive quills and inkwells in his home-but none seemed to have been put to use. Either he bought them for sentimental sake or his ridiculous schedule never left enough time to bother dallying with them.

England signed _Albion_ with several grand flourishes and thanked the heavens for the invention of blotting paper, sand always took so much longer.

He eventually folded and sealed them with a blot of wax and set them in an easy place for Mint to find. Knowing her, she'd probably drop by during the witching hour to better avoid humans. He made sure to leave her a bit of asparagus from their meal as thanks for her efforts.

He glanced at the clock; it was high time to check in on Alfred.

He felt his mood improve even more. Wouldn't the little mite be surprised?

Several bites into dinner as Alfred fidgeted under his praise insisting that the meal "wasn't fancy," Arthur decided that it was time to begin Alfred's tutelage into the occult.

He'd packed a basket full of items days ago-telling himself that he'd see how well Alfred settled in before he sprung lessons on the boy. He'd thought it would take at least week before Alfred would've eased into a new schedule with his former colonizer. (He'd fully expected several mini-rebellions as Alfred's need for excitement and independence clashed with Arthur's desire to provide him shelter and security.)

He was happily mistaken.

The child seemed ready.

He appeared to be sleeping fairly well, had expressed great interest in Mint, and though fearful-his easy acceptance of Parliament being inhabited by the supernatural meant Arthur's lessons would be well received.

He felt his heart pound excitedly as he knocked on the door twice.

"Come in" the young voice answered.

He found he little one had already changed into his pajamas and was currently rubbing at his feet.

England frowned, "Hurting?"

"Hmm" the child shrugged "...yeah."

"I see. Well, we'll need to deal with that before we can have our first magic lesson."

Alfred nearly toppled off the bed in surprise.

"Now?"

England nodded; and began pulling candles out of the basket-placing them strategically around the room.

"Circles help contain energy" Arthur supplied. "That's important during rituals. That's why you find holding hands during Thanksgivin-"

"Wha? Hold the phone. That's a…?"

"Yes, pet. That was a ritual. And what we'll be doing for Yule will be similar."

"So...it'll be fun?" the child grinned hopefully.

"Naturally. A bit more elaborate though. There will be certain-"

"Less fun."

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled out his Ipod and speaker-finding the correct playlist.

Soon the relaxing sounds of drums, harps, and pipes filled the room.

He set the basket on the bed and motioned for Alfred to lie down.

The bed dipped as he sat down and he gently pulled the child's feet to rest in his lap.

"If it's alright with you, I'm going to massage your feet again. Like I did some time ago."

He waited patiently for Alfred's nod of approval. Once he had it, he continued with, "Pain can be distracting, so I'd like to alleviate it as best I can before we begin. It's very important to be calm and relaxed in spirit, body, and mind and...Hm. You were wearing cotton socks the whole day weren't you?"

"My feet feel like dead fish, don't they?"

Arthur blinked and tried to ignore the vivid (and rather accurate) parallel. Thankfully, they didn't smell similar.

"In winter dear, you'll want to wear wool or fleece. Might want to get you a sock liner too. Keep your feet warm, dry, and well supported."

"Oh."

It made Arthur fear that Alfred just made do with whatever he had at hand. He had a horrible vision-imagining him using duct tape to insulate his feet in the snow.

It was moments like this that England had trouble reconciling himself to America's spot in the world. Really now, America was barely able to care for himself and yet somehow staggered through various wars to come out as a superpower.

It was shocking, inspirational, enviable, incredibly lucky and rather absurd. And he supposed a small part of him was proud, while the rest of him felt like vomiting violently at the thought of his small child wading through carnage...because the "Hero" often insisted on being in the thick of it.

He felt himself go green around the gills as he imagined poor Alfred enduring the field tests of the atomic bomb. It had always sickened him...and now having seen that flash of memory.

His hand melting…

Horrific…

Seven years old...

God. Not to mention _their_ wars…

That leg amputation…

The room seemed to close in…

Poor Red...

"Dad?" The feet squirmed in his hold. "I'm ready."

Arthur abruptly looked up.

Alfred blushed a bit "I...I know I was kind of a baby about it before. But I've had time to reflect...and...yeah it's...it's kinda weird because I don't really do this. But it is you...and they did feel a lot better afterwards...ya know last time when you...that I mean...you didn't hurt...and...yeah...my feet are achy soooo…yup, blessings man, do what you gotta do. I want Magic Lesson Number-o Uno!"

Arthur released a breath and tried to let his own fears dissipate.

He needed to focus on the present. And worry over simpler things, like the fact that Alfred had spent years in Tex's company and hadn't learnt Spanish at all.

Just as Antonio's rival, Arthur had learned a great deal as they screamed insults while their ships' broadsides fired.

He warmed the cold pallid feet by clasping them gently. As the flesh warmed, he began making long relaxing strokes.

Arthur added a little lotion to his hands and began rubbing circles.

He remembered how in the past, both when they lived together and later during various campaigns; Alfred's skin was susceptible to cracking and splitting in the cold. His aim was to prevent it altogether. And he wasn't a moment too soon.

He could see where the skin was drying in some areas. He made a point to reach over and moisturize Alfred's hands-remarking that Alfred really needed to get into the habit of regularly doing this-if he didn't want the cold to make him bleed.

The fact of the matter was that for all of his resilience and vigor, Alfred was surprisingly delicate. Couldn't be too hot. Couldn't be too cold. Exposure to harsh elements could easily harm him...

The Briton began wondering; if those around Arthur often compared him with the sea (from its turbulent moods, to its vast strength, to its air of mystery) than was Alfred to be compared with land?

Arthur thought of the daffodil that went into the making of him…

There was probably a heavy dose of irony there.

Water was necessary for a flower to thrive; too little and it dried and wilted. Too much and it drowned and rotted.

A careless wave of the sea could uproot it entirely.

Arthur sighed; the Cosmos had set out to teach him (in quite a heavy handed Midas fashion) about the dangers of the power he had reveled in and craved for most of his life. Now he faced the peril involved in the ocean loving a flower.

Alfred let out a dreamy sigh. It was interesting how bit by bit, as Arthur became more attuned to him, he could literally feel the child's tensions ebbing as the pain slowly dissolved. He could also feel Alfred's mood improving as a result: growing more bubbly...and more trusting; and what a sense of accomplishment that brought! As Arthur focused on one foot, the other tapped him playfully or bounced with the beat of the music.

Alfred giggled as he massaged the toes-particularly when his fingers moved in between.

A very different response from his first foot massage in November.

The change was welcome-laughter Arthur could deal with far more easily than the fearful jolts and anxious tremors.

Feeling a bit impish, he danced his fingers along the bottoms of the feet-earning a squeal.

It was moments like this that he could really feel their bond strengthening-like more threads were manifesting or being brought out of stasis and had begun twining themselves together and forming a more stable cord. He relished the feeling and understood now why Mother had often used massage as a means to connect with her children.

It was just so much easier to sense him with a physical connection!

He recalled his early youth; smuggling rabbits into their hut to distract himself from the occasional bouts of envy he got as he watched her bestow affection on his brothers.

For Alba it was his shoulders she focused on, as he had a tendency to strain himself as he labored in sword training.

Eire ran and jumped and danced himself sore on hard ground that lacked springy moss and so Mother was often rubbing the soles of his feet and treating the knots in his calves that would result.

Gwalia got regular scalp massages because he "thought overmuch" and she would moodily tell him that no thinking was allowed while she worked. When he'd smirk in response, she'd tweak his nose and tell him to "stop his mischief" which usually coaxed a laugh.

And for Albion it was his hands. She'd tenderly cradle his hands, massage and kiss them. There were only three people who'd ever sincerely kissed his hands (France never counted as he was a lech).

Mother, his dear Elizabeth, and…

He glanced fondly at his child..who was currently playing with a pillow's tassel.

Mother's kisses were a salve for his injuries. As she wiped his tears, or marveled at his newest cuts, she'd end with an exasperated lament on his tendency for grabbing at things (thorned roses, hot cauldrons, sharp toothed pixies). It would be a character flaw that followed him-growing as he did (more land, more riches, more opportunities).

Elizabeth had kissed them in deference; for the strength she witnessed in them. They had seen their lands defended. Had worked hard to make their kingdom great in the eyes of all that knew them.

And Alfred…

A very small Alfred had kissed his hands-

" _Because they are kind to me."_

He had a larger context to fit that in now.

Before he'd thought Alfred was commending him for the generosity he'd shown the child. His hands certainly had bestowed much in way of food, clothes, toys, and presents.

But it was simpler than that.

It was more than that.

He knew his father's hands held love in them.

Knew it by the contrast; he'd endured harsh hands from tribes and settlers that wanted little to do with him. That threw things or slapped or shoved.

It was so interesting comparing their early childhoods.

Arthur had known Mother's loving hands first and had been appalled and angered by the lack of affection he received elsewhere. And following her loss, he'd subconsciously quested to find such love again.

Meanwhile, Alfred hadn't known much tenderness until his father finally arrived. From what Arthur had observed, Osha was too rigid, too disciplined, too busy with her many responsibilities to simply lavish the boy with affection anytime he desired.

And so the boy often went without...and became vexed with the gentle heart in his breast-trying his best to separate his needs, from his feelings, from his ambitions. Fragmenting himself.

Arthur sighed and stroked the feet tenderly. They flexed and curled.

He began focusing his attentions on the heels and ankles stroking upward toward the calves.

"That!" Alfred called suddenly causing Arthur to freeze.

"What?"

"That. Do that. Again."

He complied.

"Other foot now."

He did as bade.

Alfred sank blissfully into the pillows.

"Yesssss."

" _Please Modor" Albion whined. "Once more."_

 _She gave him an indulgent smile as she stroked his fingers; the tips of her nails ghosting along sending pleasant little shivers as she traced the lines on his hands whispering about possible adventures in his future. She paused now and then to deliver a kiss to the center of his palm...much to his delight._

He remembered looking on her with such veneration-she was the hub and each brother was a spoke of their family wheel.

Adored her. He remembered his clumsy fingers trying to weave flowers in her hair as a symbol of childish gratitude.

His wondered if Alfred looked on him with half as much emotion-'fallen' as he no doubt was in the child's esteem.

Green eyes sought out blue to find them lazily contemplating him.

Arthur finished up with a few long strokes and then gave the feet a playful tap.

"That's you done."

Alfred stretched and then curled up contently-body languid and eyes bright...like a spoiled kitten.

"And now the magic..." Alfred breathed eagerly. He stared intently into Arthur's eyes, "You promised."

Arthur smirked and clapped his hands together-pulling his wand from the ether.

Alfred immediately perked up as the item suddenly appeared. Eyes wide. Mouth slack. Awestruck.

Arthur briefly felt a lump in his throat at beholding that look of innocent wonder for a second time.

So similar to the first...

With a casual flick of his wand the lights went out.

"D-daddy? Da-"

He reached over and set a gentle hand on the boy's foot and let the wand's star point glow enough so the child could see him.

He flicked it again and the candles lit themselves.

Blame the bards, blame the courts, blame Shakespeare for making Arthur a showman at heart...but he couldn't help feeling a bit of pride at Alfred's gasp.

God, the boy was always a good audience. Hong Kong tended to be rather stoic and Australia would interrupt with questions. (Sealand...Sealand would "boo" before he even got a word out.)

"Alright, Sweet. Now we'll begin. Come closer."

Alfred gingerly crawled toward him.

"If you'd be so kind as to hold this for me" he proffered the wand.

Alfred took in a shaky breath and held the wand as if it were made of glass.

Arthur pulled his great old leather bound book from the basket.

He cracked it open and smiled as he saw Alfred crane his neck to peer at it interestedly.

"If I could trouble you for some light."

The child practically glued himself to Arthur's side holding the wand over the pages.

"Crann Bethadh."

"Huh?"

He repeated the word more slowly and watched the child try to mouth it. Pronunciation was something to worry about later. Right now it was more important to generate interest than demand perfection.

It reminded Arthur of wading into shallow water and coaxing Alfred to follow him in so he could teach him to swim. This was no less vital a skill.

"This is the Celtic Tree of Life."

He gently reached for Alfred's hand and guided the fingers along the drawing.

"You see? How it's roots and its branches are connected?"

"Yes."

"It symbolizes the circular nature of life, of time, of-of everything. Everything connects."

"It's always trees" Alfred mumbled "This has trees. Bible has trees. Osha taught me about trees too…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah…" he muttered distractedly.

Arthur waited for him to elaborate but the child went quiet.

Honestly, Arthur would like to hear more (about everything; his life with Osha as a babe, his time as her captive, his feelings toward her now) but knew he needed to be patient-the more comfortable Alfred felt, the more he'd share.

"To put it simply there is a cycle. As you've no doubt witnessed, seedlings sprout. They grow. They bend with time and return to the soil-replenishing it for other seedlings. Where there is life, there is death. And from death comes new life."

"Yup. Juxtaposition."

England blinked-impressed he knew that word, "...Yes. Well, the land grants us magic through our connection with it. We use the magic it provides us and then we must replenish. To replenish we must reconnect."

"Why does the land give us magic?"

"I've wondered many a night and afternoon. It is a gift. Not all personifications seem to have it."

Alfred glanced at him excitedly, "Does that make us special?"

"No more or less. Simply different."

Alfred's face soured a bit. Clearly, he'd wanted to be told in no uncertain means that he was unique. He did NOT want the child lording his magic over the other children this holiday.

"You'll have some abilities that others do not. And there will be responsibilities and consequences for your talents. In some ways you'll excel as a result and in other ways you'll be weighed down."

And that was more true than even Arthur liked to admit at times. He knew firsthand how scheduling time to replenish his magic could be awfully troublesome.

The child sighed and gave a lackluster "...yay..."

Alfred carefully turned one of the yellowed pages-his hand idly sweeping across the page. Stopping here and there on the illustrations of various knots.

"That one" he pointed.

"What about that one?"

"My...my bed…" Alfred's eyes closed partway as if he was squinting into the past. "Before when we...It had that one."

"Yes. Yes, it did" England confirmed pleased that he remembered "That is a shield knot. I stitched it on your quilt. Wards off illness and bad omens."

Alfred's hand danced along a myriad of other designs before pausing again, "This one. Was on the bookmark! The one you gave me! Just a few months ago!"

Arthur nodded.

The child studied the cramped writing underneath it.

"I can't read it." he grumbled a bit impatiently.

"It's Gaelic dear."

"Is it all in Gaelic?!" Alfred cried out in dismay.

"No. Some parts in Scots Gaelic, some in Welsh, some in Latin, others in Olde, Middle, and Early Modern English. A couple of bits in Norse and Romanian; I always think it's good to study magic in other nations- glean and use what you can."

Alfred's brows furrowed in frustration, "But how I am supposed to learn from a book I can't read? Am I gonna have to Google-translate friggin' everything?! ...I don't think there's enough beer in the world to motivate Tony to do it for me."

Arthur deliberately cleared his throat.

"Is there a SparkNotes version, I can cheat with?"

"No."

"...I'm gonna have to learn these languages, before I can learn magic? Gonna take me years! Dinosaurs are gonna revive before I've got these mastered and I-"

"Alfred."

The child looked up at him forlornly.

"Sweetheart."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know someone who knows those languages?"

"All of 'em?"

"Mmhmm."

"I dunno...I'm gonna be honest, I stopped reading everyone's resumes back home a while ago and whenever I need something to be translated I just call the language out really, really loudly and usually someone ends up reporting to my desk and-and…" he abruptly looked at England and blushed, "Oh."

"Oh indeed, and that design you were wondering about is the Knot of-"

The child stared, "You...you're...gonna read it _**all**_ to me?"

"Well not in one go, dear" he answered wryly.

Alfred eyed the thickness of the book.

"This is Book One...of many" Arthur informed him.

Alfred bit his lip.

"Sounds like a big time commitment."

Arthur managed to swallow the scolding-though it crept up his throat eager to force its way out. Alfred needed to accept that while he'd grown used to a society of rushed deadlines, cutting corners was forbidden in this art. Too much harm could be done.

They would take as much time as was necessary for Alfred to learn the craft safely.

"Yes. It is" he agreed shortly.

"Months…"

"Years, dear."

"Really?"

He barely held in the long suffering sigh; _No Alfred, you won't be able to absorb it all via one week's worth of cramming._

"You.." the boy looked down and away and then back at Arthur "you really don't mind?"

His time.

Alfred was worried about wasting his father's time.

Silly goose.

To wonder such a thing, when Arthur had practically dragged him here for the sole sake of educating him in magic and reforging their bond.

Of course it would take time. Arthur was depending on that. Time was his ally here and he intended to exploit it fully.

He brushed Alfred's fringe away from his eyes.

"No" he assured "No. Not at all."

"But…" the child's mouth opened as if he was struggling to understand some horribly complex problem. To the point where he couldn't even convey what it was that had him confounded "...why?"

"The answer's under your fingertips."

Alfred immediately looked down and traced the design.

"Knot of Four Hearts" Arthur murmured softly.

Alfred scrutinized it, "I see two...this one and that one…"

Arthur ran his finger across it, "And this one...and this one."

"Ohhh. So...if that one's a shield and it protects...and this one has hearts...than it means…" the child stilled and gave a hesitant answer "love?"

He nodded, "Familial love. Do you see how it's made from one continuous line?"

There was a shy nod.

"Such a line signifies that there's no beginning and no end; Everlasting."

* * *

Scotland tapped an impatient foot as he waited for the door to open. There really were other places he'd rather be this dreary Sunday afternoon. He was getting drenched out here!

He was just about to knock again, when he heard the lock slide and the door opened.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur bit out-his default frown darkening a bit as he recognized his unexpected visitor. "You didn't phone-"

"Only God and the Devil know where my phone is now" he brushed past-giving his younger brother a bit more elbow than was strictly necessary.

Arthur elbowed him back on his way to shut the door.

"Aren't you a sight?" Arthur muttered "Did you get dressed in the dark?"

Personally, he was proud he managed to get dressed at all! What with pixies constantly snatching at his clothing and gnomes messing with his lights!

"Ack" Alistair growled "God. What. Is. That. Stench?"

Arthur bristled beside him.

"Lunch!" Alfred answered from down the hall "We ate an hour ago. The smoke detector's already turned off."

"Tha' so?"

"Yup" Alfred replied as he padded towards his relatives; holding both cats under their front legs-allowing the rest of their bodies to hang.

"No! Camelot!" Arthur scrambled to rescue his cat from Alfred's hold.

"Alfred" he scolded "You must be gentle." He cuddled the Scottish Fold-as if certain the cat was now traumatized.

Alfred shrugged "Americat likes it."

More like Americat tolerated it because he was a feline saint; his hind legs were dragging on the floor. And then Alfred spun in a circle giggling-the cat's only response was to flick its tail.

Scotland felt pity for the poor creature and rubbed its furry belly-receiving a meow for his efforts.

"Alfred" England warned. "You'll hurt Americat's back treating him that way."

The boy set the cat down and then pulled a jingling ball from his pocket.

"Alfred, be careful in the house. Please, I don't want anything brok-" whatever he was going to say was forgotten as Camelot began squirming to be set down. England frowned, caught off guard that his cat wanted to partake in the rougher play.

Arthur usually preferred more stationary cat toys for his spoiled pet. It felt like Alistair was always having to push past cat paraphernalia whenever he had to stay with his brother. He had a feeling Arthur deliberately put that stuff in his guestroom for whenever Scot visited. Damn cat would give him a fright by entering in the middle of the night and playing with the dangling toys.

Alfred gleefully began teasing the animals-laughing as the cats began clowning around for his entertainment.

Arthur shook his head in a show of annoyance-Alistair knew him better-a facade. His mouth was frowning, but his eyes were soft as they gazed his offspring.

And it infuriated Alistair.

Here they were playing "happy family" totally ignorant of all the shit Scotland had to put up with in the meanwhile.

"You're early" Alistair pointed a square calloused finger at the boy "Why?"

"I-I mixed up the dates" Alfred admitted sheepishly.

"Of course you did" Alistar muttered darkly. "Of course. You're a numpty headed little-"

"Alistair" Arthur cut him off sharply.

While Alfred stared at him, his previous cheer drooping, Americat pounced on his legs-startling him into dropping the toy which Camelot snatched and both cats raced off with their price.

Alistair ran a hand through his thick red hair-pulling his fingers through the tangles.

"Did you just barge in here to be insolent?" Arthur demanded incredulously-folding his arms and planting his feet confrontationally.

"Just asking a question" he growled back.

"Am I in trouble?" Alfred's voice wavered.

"No! Of course not darling."

"Oh yes, not to worry. You're just turning everything on its ear. Again! Making my life harder."

"Alistair! The hell-"

"I'm tired dammit. Do you have any idea how tired I am? Too tired to be your goddamned secretary!"

"Uncle...Al?" Alfred mumbled, blue eyes going wide.

"Alfred, please wait in the lounge. Supposedly, your uncle needs to talk, or rather, swear at me. He's isn't especially smart so his vocabulary is rather limited. It won't take long dear. You needn't worry."

Alistair seethed.

"But…"

"Now please, before the cats tear that toy of yours to shreds and I have to sweep up what's left."

The child turned and left throwing a few concerned looks over his shoulders before he shuffled out of sight.

The minute he was out of earshot, Arthur rounded on his brother-teeth bared, "For God's sake if not ours, have a fucking cigarette and calm the fuck down."

Arthur didn't usually let him smoke inside since his brother had quit in the 1970s.

Without a further word he pulled out his box of cigarettes grabbed one with his teeth and hastily pulled out his lighter.

Several shaky puffs later, he grit out, "I have enough to deal with. Got enough troubles with my own Parliament to be bothered with yours. I've been receiving all sorts of calls from them because they think you've gone off your rocker! Gettin' all damn smiley with everyone."

"Wot?"

"Oh aye. First, they thought you were drunk. Then they wondered if you were on a medication. And then after playing Twenty fucking Questions, I found that for some reason you decided to make it ' _Bring your sprog to work day_ ' and then act completely unlike yourself and take more fucking breaks than you ever have in the decades they've known you. Did you really have America just sit in your office, rather than-than I don't know doing something of merit? You and he and your Parliament could have meted out something about drone technology or-"

"Why on Earth would they call you?"

"I don't know! And I don't like it! But if I am listed as the first person to contact in case of an emergency, you damn well better change it to Wales. I can't deal with this. I just-"

"Alistair?"

"Not the 1300s. I just don't have that sort of energy anymore. My turn to barge in on you and **_you_ ** deal with it" he grumbled "God! And the fae...the fae! Albion! They have harassed me for information about your son. Apparently, Gwalia has stonewalled them and Eire just lies out his arse and gives a different story each time he's asked. You know what that means? I tell ya wha' that means. It means my house is crawlin' with fae. Riddled. Up at all hours! When one set finally nods off, the next awakens and they're drivin' me mad!"

"So you're sleep deprived" Arthur reasoned "I suppose that explains some of your current...demeanor."

"Oi! Not me fault. Not. Me. Fault. First there was Al gettin' captured, and you being impossible, and then there were wendigo, than there was Al screamin' at all hours, and now there's fae...tryin' to break me."

"Hmm. That's really quite unusual...for them to be so aggressive at this time of year."

"Ya know what else is unusual?" From out of his coat, Alistair pulled a large heavy duty Ziploc bag filled with toadstools.

"Ah yes, I think I heard something on the telly. Mild winter is letting them flourish. They've issued a warning for those with pets and small child-"

"More than that bràthair" he shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily. "This weather. It's messing up more than just dog walks and ice rinks. Arthur...These aren't just run o' the mill mushrooms. They're all from rings, Arthur. Plucked one from each ring I passed on the way down here. Arthur...They're dancing out of season."

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or . Or Google-Translate. Or Radiohead and their song "Creep." Or Sir Gawain and The Green Knight. Or Disney's Pixie Hollow franchise. Or Eagles.

 **Warning:** Some profanity! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Hunters vs. Hunt Saboteurs in the U.K. Brief 9/11 reference. Two finger salute-in the U.S.-an acceptable quirky send off gesture...in the U.K…still the middle finger (just...apparently hanging out with a friend). Baseball vs Golf terminology. Finnish spelling: Timo. Kids subconsciously think that their parent is superior to other adults in an array of abilities. Don't mess with America's sugar intake-it never ends well. Fluff. Creepy throw away references to rather scary fae. Tsunderes and their interactions with other tsunderes.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! Glad you guys have been enjoying it thus far. To one anonymous reviewer on England's view of America's success: I agree; it's more than luck, but his Empire ego seems to be clouding his vision.

 **Chapter 12: Affection Ninja**

* * *

Scotland yawned and stretched-staring blearily at the clock on his bedside table.

A solid eight hours. He'd needed it.

Following his tirade, Arthur had a raised an eyebrow and point blank asked, _"And what am I to do about that? They do as they will. The cold will come and when it does, they'll retreat back into their kingdoms for the rest of the winter."_

He then dragged Scotland with more strength than Alistair liked to acknowledge to the guestroom.

" _Now sleep that horrid mood off."_

The sight of a bed was too beautiful, and sleep too heavenly a possibility for him to let the chance pass him by.

He glanced around as he cracked his wrists and knuckles: there wasn't any cat equipment-thus, confirming his long held suspicion that Arthur moved those in here whenever he was expecting him.

As he emerged into the now darkened house, stomach rumbling with hunger, he found Arthur stretched out on the couch watching the weather forecast.

Alfred was asleep; cuddled between his father and the back pillow-giving him no chance of rolling off.

"We've already eaten; go make yourself something" his brother declared imperiously.

Alistair scoured the pantry and settled for some curry flavored instant noodles. Rather than eating at the table, he came back into the lounge

Arthur glared, "If you make a mess-"

Scotland rolled his eyes and made some obnoxious slurps.

Arthur gave him a dirty look while he pulled a blanket off the top of the couch-careful not to jostle Alfred as he draped it over them. He used an edge to gently dab at the drool dribbling down Alfred's chin.

While the weatherman droned on about the unusually mild winter temperatures they were experiencing, Arthur took to petting his child's hair.

"Not worried at all about them stealing off with little 'uns?" Alistair asked pointedly.

Arthur paused and glowered, "They don't target them anymore."

"So tha's how ya sleep at night."

With Changelings and Redcaps wandering about, the latter of which were getting bolder now that fewer people were frequenting their castles and they needed to keep their dyes fresh, they really couldn't afford to turn a blind eye.

It was troublesome enough to have to deal with them in the height of their power through spring and summer. Usually autumn saw them tapering off in retreat to their respective kingdoms to escape the approaching cold; resulting in a highly reduced number of magical incidents. Sure, there were a few winter fae that came out specially for the snow and creatures like banshees and wights were never affected by the changing seasons...but it was the warm weather fae that had a greater penchant for mischief...at least in their lands.

From what he'd seen over the years, Norway's trolls' activities weren't really affected by any season at all.

Alistair looked back over to find Arthur had returned his attentions to Alfred.

Dammit, Arthur needed to focus! They'd need to appeal to the courts to do something about their erring subjects and quickly. Though knowing their mischievous streaks; an appeal before either ruler could last days as they jumbled one's sense of time-no doubt Arthur didn't want to bother with it all since he would soon have company over and he couldn't afford to simply vanish for a week or more.

Still, just because it was inconvenient-didn't mean it could be ignored.

Fine.

He took another bite.

Fine. If Alistair couldn't appeal to his nation side via logic, he'd aim for the soft underbelly of his human side.

"For Alfred's sake, I hope you're right."

Arthur immediately held the child tighter.

A direct hit.

Good. Get him worried about it.

Because while Alistair was fairly sure the Boaban Sith wouldn't dabble with Alfred (his child form wouldn't provide much of a meal), a kelpie would find it good sport to lure him into its loch.

Alistair continued, "Still...I'm surprised at you. It doesn't sound like you're equally concerned about your other citizens."

"Well, people shouldn't be gallivanting about in woods and parks at the witching hour anyway" Arthur grumbled as he swept Alfred's fringe out of his face. "If they were at home, safe in their beds like the rest of us-they wouldn't have any chance of stumbling into an active fairy ring."

"So nothing. You intend to do nothing-"

"Time for bed" Arthur muttered curtly as he carefully picked his son up. "Reilley will be here in the morning, they're going golfing. I suggest you go. And I advise you use the rest of tonight to think up a suitable apology. Alfred was quite upset by your behavior earlier."

Great. That was the downside of Arthur's "father mode;" he actively tried to parent everyone.

"Or else what?"

Arthur gave him a cold look and then smirked, "Or perhaps your fae visitors will become roommates when I tell them how lonely you've been."

"You wouldn't dare-"

"Goodnight" He enunciated harshly-deliberately turning lights off as he went.

Maybe Alistair had spent too many centuries as the Bearer of Bad News for Arthur. Maybe the role of messenger needed a fresh face with baby fat and big blue eyes.

In the glow of the television set, Alistair finished off his meager dinner and plotted on how to recruit his nephew to his cause.

* * *

Alfred gripped the wheel more tightly-trying not to let Scotland's wet blanket attitude bother him. Something was up with him beyond sleep debt.

His Scottish uncle was now several holes or greens or whatever behind because he wouldn't ride with them in the golf cart while Alfred was at the wheel.

Yeah, his driving skills weren't...super. For him to hold the steering wheel and press the gas pedal required stretching in such a way that he couldn't see very well over the dashboard.

And it wasn't his fault that Reilley was a lousy navigator. His uncle kept his eyes squeezed shut during most of it and he was too busy alternating between cursing in Gaelic and praying in English to bother telling Alfred "left" or "right" or "watch out for the sand trap."

The last one would've been really helpful-they probably wouldn't tipped over if he'd known it was so close...and if he hadn't made such a hard left.

Yeah…

It wasn't long before security came and escorted them out.

While camped out in the car, waiting for Alistair to finish up his game, Alfred's phone rang.

"Hey Dad!" he chirped as he tried to open a Double Decker candybar one handed. Reilley offered him a soda. His uncle was awesome and had already agreed to bring him soda and candy over the course of his "holiday" with them. The caveat being that should America ask him for alcohol or coffee-the smuggling operation would end.

Really, they were just harming themselves; an America without sugar, caffeine, and alcohol became a rebellious, spiteful, grouch.

That was another reason his government kept his food supplies stocked when he went overseas for missions.

" _Hello! Alright there?"_

"Yes."

" _Having fun?"_

"...yeah...but my line drive wasn't as impressive as it used to be…"

" _...Long drive?"_

"Hmm."

" _But you're still having fun? They're treating you well?"_

"Uh huh."

As well as his uncles were gonna treat him.

Yeah, they were old. So...they were always gonna be at least a little cranky. They swore and shoved and complained a bunch and each respectively either smelled of a blend of aftershave and cigarettes or aftershave and alcohol. Smells he'd come to associate with bachelor unclehood. But he'd come to accept all that years ago.

Naturally they weren't gonna be as mushy and parental as Arthur.

Geez, just that morning the old man kissed him on the cheek as a farewell before he took off for work.

He felt his cheeks warm at the memory. He'd done it right there in front of his uncles and everything!

Plus, there was their magic lesson...

' _Knot of Fourhearts...Familial love...'_

' _...Everlasting...'_

And the fact that he'd given the bookmark with that symbol to Alfred before…

Before his downsizing...

Before his capture...

Before everything got soap opera-y…

Dude…

A bookmark…

A bookmark!

A bookmark that pretty much said: ' _I'll love you forever'_ in England-speak.

America shook his head embarrassedly; _Geez England, you affection ninja-what other stealthy moves have you made through the ages that I...that I haven't noticed?_

Arthur was being obvious now (thinking their differences were put aside) but how many little clues had Alfred missed?

" _They're behaving themselves?"_

"Yup, we're having fun" Alfred assured-and they were...kinda; in that forced-familial-bonding sort of way.

It wasn't their fault. The three of them couldn't visit a pub now, which kinda limited the amount of fun activities they could do that would make everyone happy.

" _If they don't treat you well, you tell me. Understand?"_

He blinked at the hard tone. Before he could swallow it down, an uncharacteristically obedient "Yes sir" escaped him.

" _Good."_

He was kinda surprised he was even calling. They were gonna see him for lunch and then Alfred was gonna chill in Arthur's office again. Hopefully, the ghosts wouldn't attack. It made him jittery thinking about it.

" _Is one of them nearby?"_

"Yeah."

" _May I speak with him?"_

"Kay. Please hold while I transfer your call" he handed the phone to Reilly who raised a large eyebrow at him.

Whoops. Yeah, he'd been one of the few male switchboard operators back in the '20s. At least until, he'd been informed that despite his courteous manners-female voices were just more pleasant to the ear than his and he was let go.

"Yes...Yes. I know. No. Aye. Hmm. Aye. Well don't get your knickers in a twist. He's fine. 'Course he's fine. Yes. Yes. We'll see ya then and not a moment sooner ya worrywort."

He then ended the call and handed it back to Alfred.

No sooner was it in hand that it vibrated and rang with an incoming call.

It was Arthur again, who sounded rather flustered, and insisted that they hadn't had a "proper" goodbye.

It was the sort of thing Alfred and Tex did when their phone calls with one another got cut short from low battery. They usually immediately redialed one another on a landline. In fact, they sometimes did it at the exact same time and got a "busy" signal. Eventually this prompted them to set up a system. Alfred usually went first (since Alfred came before Texas alphabetically) and if he couldn't get through-he needed to count to twelve before trying again (which would give Tex a chance to dial).

It was important to them; ensuring that nothing bad had happened to the other and to make a habit of saying _"I love you"_ before they hung up. Because ya just never knew when one of you was going to be ambushed by highwaymen, or have your submarine sunk, or be crushed in a falling World Trade Center.

" _I'll see you later dear. Mind your uncles...unless they're being ridiculous. Remember to say 'please' if you need to ask anyone for assistance."_

Alfred rolled his eyes. Yup, he answered the phone for _**this**_.

" _Use the crosswalks. Don't spoil your appetite; yes, I can hear you snacking on something. Try not to soil your outfit."_

Alfred surreptitiously tried to brush some more of the lingering sand-trap sand out of the creases of his clothes.

" _Don't linger on the right hand side of walkways-it's different here. Don't wander off. Be courteous to my police officers and for God's sake don't two finger salute them. And-and...I'll...see you soon. I love you."_ There was a pause and then the call ended.

Alfred noted belatedly, as his face burned, that the pause had been space for him to echo the statement back.

It's just…

He wasn't expecting it-knowing that England was at work (he could hear office workers bustling behind him) and that there were people standing around within earshot…

And...England didn't mind…? If they overheard?

Something about that touched him deeper than he liked.

Made him feel a connection between them…

For one moment there, they felt...so alike…

That could've been himself waiting for an "I love you" from Hawaii or Tex or Molossia.

And now he felt kinda bad...what had Arthur felt during the silence?

Dammit, his old man was wearing him down with his steadfast mushiness.

A couple days in and Alfred's walls were turning to goo!

If that wasn't bad enough...they'd only been apart for a few hours and he was starting to miss him.

Two long hours later (after an uncomfortable but somewhat deserved 'You're-both-idgits' lecture from Scotland) England and America were reunited in a Chinese fast food restaurant.

And if Alfred wasn't mistaken Arthur seemed a teensy bit impressed with him-Alfred wasn't too shabby with chopsticks.

Thank you Japan and China! The former of which would usually model appropriate utensil holding techniques for his benefit while explaining the cultural significance (which was great because it usually turned the moment into story time and Japan was almost as good as England).

Meanwhile, China went for the more direct approach and just called him out when he was holding/eating/behaving "incorrectly:" _'America! Why you make me embarrassed to be seen with you?!'_

Yup. That usually got his attention pretty quick.

"I was thinking," Scotland mused aloud as he grabbed an egg roll "that we ought to do somethin' a bit more exciting."

"Golf _**was**_ exciting!" Reilley interjected.

"Go on, I like exciting!" Alfred heartily endorsed.

"Poppet, don't speak with your mouth full" Arthur lightly scolded.

"Oi, if you'd been sitting where I was sitting-you wouldn't be sayin' that at all" Reiley groused pouring more sweet and sour sauce over his meal.

"Been a while since we did some trail hunting."

Alfred immediately perked up "Hunting?"

Finally! Scotland was acting more like his cool self again! He still wasn't sure what his issue had been yesterday and while just about everyone who interacted with him had various "Blame America" moments, he usually had an actual hand in whatever misfortune had aggravated them.

Ah well, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Alistair?" Reilley looked a bit uncertainly at his brother.

Arthur glared, "A ridiculous idea. His age-"

"He's enough experience for a hundred marksmen" Scotland waved a dismissive hand "and I'm certain I could likely pull a few strings and-"

"Yeah! Now you're talking, I-"

"No" Arthur shook his head firmly "This holiday is meant to be peaceful."

"Awwwwwww."

"He might just relax different than you...and we can exhaust some of that youthful energy."

"Yeah!"

"Oh yes; you. You, who were just freaking out yesterday over a few missed hours of sleep, I want _**you**_ to be handling guns" Arthur sneered "You think you should be the one to take my son hunting? Oh yes, that sounds safe. I'm going to consent to that" his voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Hmm...yeah...there was that but…Alfred wasn't his charge anymore. He could make whatever decisions he wanted. Alfred mulled around the idea of being with Scotland who, while gruff, always had a sort of "old-school-warrior-esque" aura...and woods and hunting and-and-and….ADVENTURE!

"Really Uncle Al? You're gonna take me hunting?"

"Out of the ques-"

"I jus' might. They're some trails and I think it'd do you good to go riding and hunting with some hounds and-"

Alfred squealed delightedly, "I promise I won't get lost this time! Hey Dad! Are you gonna come too? I hear they're really cracking down on hunting here. So you better get in on it, if you wanna see some action-"

"Alfred...there's a rather violent track record between hunters and sabs. And I would really prefer we not even risk getting caught up in-"

Alfred glowed with thoughts of hunting, "We chase foxes at home. Coyote are fair game in some parts though. Cuz they eat the foxes."

He shuffled closer to Scotland.

"Will there be horns and bugles and stuff? I love it when there's horns-reminds me of stories and ballads like-"

"Alfred-"

"Come on Dad! It'll be like _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ but more modern and less armor...unless you wanna let us borrow-"

"Sweetheart look, there's one more dumpling! Would you like it?"

He swiveled and immediately moved closer to Arthur, "Would I?! O'course!"

He munched happily on the potsticker.

* * *

England felt the little fingers in his squirm at the tight grip.

He forced himself to relax it, but it was difficult.

God, it was difficult.

Only a few minutes after departing the restaurant and waving farewell to Alistair and Reilley (because they had watched Alfred the whole morning and deserved a reprieve from his energetic offspring), Alfred had nearly scared him to death looking left instead of right before trying to cross the street.

Thankfully, they'd been holding hands and Arthur was able to yank him out of the way of oncoming traffic.

A careless _"whoops"_ had been followed by a frustrated _"why do you guys have to drive on this side anyway?"_

Despite the fact that America used to drive on the same side! It was after his revolution that he chose to change it...hmph...juvenile rebellion...

Arthur tried to calm himself and gave the boy a strained " _ **Please**_ _be more careful._ "

Maybe he heard the desperation in his voice, because the boy dropped the attitude and Arthur received a soft "kay."

It seemed like matters were resolved until they approached Westminster Palace, and Alfred stopped walking-like an obstinate mule, he dug in his heels and wouldn't budge.

Funny how nations could summon such strength at times; the sudden pull had jolted Arthur's arm rather painfully.

God, if this was about the "ghosts" so help him...

"You're hurting" Alfred growled. "Too tight!"

Dammit, his grip _**had**_ tightened again.

"Sorry," He let go and Alfred flexed his fingers.

"Don't hold so hard Old Man," Alfred reprimanded-voice low and harsh.

That sentence.

Within that simple snarled declaration...

Arthur swallowed a sigh.

Alfred's desire for independence and Arthur's need for control would always have them locking horns.

And even while Arthur could acknowledge and even sympathize to an extent-he'd been that way in his youth-considered his brothers the meanest of tyrants whenever they stood in the way of his desires...

And yet...try as he might, Arthur just couldn't see himself as an unreasonable authority figure. Yes, he'd made mistakes with all of his wards...but usually whenever he tried to reign them in or correct misbehavior, he did so out of concern.

He frowned back at the two sharp ungrateful blue eyes and the slightly wrinkled nose.

He felt his ire raise instinctively at the confrontational tone and the obvious lack of respect, awareness, and gratitude; he was trying to keep the child safe!

He took a deep breath.

 _Easy Arthur ol' boy._

They needed to find a middle ground. Arthur would make the first step in search of it and hoped that Alfred would follow suit.

"I'm sorry" he repeated.

The child's vexed expression became something more fragile and he flexed his fingers again, "...hurt me…"

"Didn't mean to harm you" Arthur replied sincerely-carefully reaching for the (admittedly pink) fingers and feeling rather awful.

He clasped the hand gently between both of his, "Very sorry. My nerves...still...a bit...on edge from...earlier. Car almost struck you...needed you to stay close."

Alfred blinked, "Oh." He scuffed a shoe and wiggled the fingers in Arthur's hold. "You coulda just said so."

"I'll try to remember to do that."

"S'okay. Tex was always having to manhandle me outta the way of wagons and coaches and stuff. Thought you were mad at me for messing up and bein' all passive aggressive and dragging me behind you like a stupid oxen."

Arthur took that moment to gently scoop him up before walking up the steps and through the entrance-figuring Alfred could use the comfort and Arthur could use some peace of mind that his child would arrive at his office unscathed.

"I _**can**_ walk you know" Alfred pouted-a hint of his previous frustration already resurfacing.

"I know, Sweet. I just...I missed being able to hold you. There were a lot of years when I couldn't." It wasn't a lie. He'd long missed the days where he could carry him-had regretted all those moments where he'd told a little colony _"No. Not now"_ and _"You're old enough to walk on your own. So do so."_ Far too soon, he'd had a teenaged Alfred on his hands. And Arthur had often been caught up in maintaining appearances that he'd scold the lad when he'd disrupt his ship's disembarkment to ambush his colonizer with a fierce embrace.

Not long after the smoky battlefields of 1812 cleared, when trade had resumed and his empire needed him to improve relations with the United States, he experienced the phenomena of not having someone waiting for him in the harbor.

He, along with several of his best handpicked advisors, arrived at the White House unescorted and furious.

When he commented on the blatant disregard of propriety, Alfred had laughed him off with _"But they had you! Aw England, I thought it would be an insult to include a guide-"_

He'd bristled, _"Address me as The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Irel-"_

" _Hahaha, what a long title! I should need to take a breath in the midst of saying it. No disrespect intended, next time I'll send someone. I just figured you knew the way very well."_

Arthur stilled as he reached for the button for his floor.

He'd always dismissed it as carelessness on Alfred's part-an amateur nation knowing little about the ways of hosting and-

He blinked.

Except...he'd taken his job as host of Thanksgiving so seriously. It was difficult to reconcile himself to the possibility that he simply had less interest in his role as a host to other nations in a professional setting. He shook his head, well, Alfred had been much younger then versus now-and a certain amount of ignorance was to be expected and excused no matter how irritating or inconvenient it might be except…

Something wasn't quite right about that interaction. His lingering hurt and resentment and his need to hurry the negotiations along (he had wards and a government to return to) distracted him from it in the moment.

" _I'll send someone."_

Someone else.

And he did. It wouldn't be for another century or so that Alfred began being the one to meet him after voyages or flights to his country.

" _I just figured you knew the way very well."_

Was it a jab? At his past as his colonizer? That Arthur had lost him or...

Perhaps….it...no…but…

No.

Because the White House hadn't existed until 1800 and during America's early years as a sovereign nation, England usually had most of their trade meetings happen on his side of the Atlantic (the boy needed to see how proper hosting was supposed to be done), so how would he-

Abruptly, he saw the White House in flames flash across his memory's eye.

' _...I just figured_ _ **you**_ _knew the way_ _ **very**_ _well...'_

A _fter all, you knew it well enough to come and burn my capital to the ground._

He remembered Blue's cold expression, _"It'll never be over."_

No. They were reconciled now. Blue was wrong.

Had to be.

Alfred squirmed, reached over, and pressed the button where Arthur's hand was hovering. He flashed a charming 'I'm-being-helpful' smile and whispered apologetically in his ear, "Sorry dude, that's the right floor, right? I just had to go for it, people were starting to stare."

He nodded distractedly and moved away from the panel so the other elevator passengers could make their selections.

It was a long ride up as his mind raced.

1812.

 _ **That**_ was the ghost haunting them.

They had to talk about it.

Soon.

He knew Mathieu and Texas should be present-he'd promised Mathieu.

But...

He wasn't sure if he could wait that long.

Arthur exited the elevator, nodding to various assistants as he approached his office.

He adjusted his hold on Alfred, as he searched for his keys.

After setting his briefcase on the desk, he moved to deposit Alfred in his chair. Except that the boy took that moment to wrap his arms tightly around Arthur's neck and lean more fully against him.

"I…" Alfred murmured hesitantly "Ya know I…"

"Hm?"

Alfred chewed his lip a moment and buried his face into Arthur's shoulder and murmured so quietly that if Arthur's office hadn't been deathly silent-he wouldn't have heard it:

"I missed you too."

* * *

Alfred crunched through another spoonful of bland, healthy oat cereal.

Old man cereal…

Blech…

His uncles had left last night to "check" on Wales. Yeah, there was something going on alright.

They'd all been crashing on the couch: Reilley had the left side, Scotland had the right, and Alfred and the cats had the top...or did until Arthur lifted him off it and settled them both on the green velvet high back chair in the corner.

Even worse, when they all started arguing about what to watch, for some reason England wouldn't let them all just arm wrestle for it.

No, in a totally arbitrary move he pulled the "You're-under-my-roof" card and changed it to _Dr. Who_.

During a commercial, Eire had checked his phone.

" _Whoops" Eire had commented flippantly "Had this off. Let's see. Oh...hmm…Oh dear."_

" _What now?" Alistair dragged a hand over his face._

" _It's Rhys. Tryin' to get ahold of you actually. Yeh haven't been returning his calls and when he went to check up on you, the sprites wouldn't open the door. Yeh should hear him, Alis! Awwww" he reached over to try and pinch Scotland's cheek "Sounds like he's worried about you_ _deartháir"_

" _Hmph. Not worried about you."_

" _He knows I can withstand just about anythin'-"_

" _Like a cockroach-"_

" _I'm more than a match for some little wittle pixies-"_

 _Scotland gave him a kick which didn't stop his brother from chuckling malevolently._

 _Alistair crossed his arms, "See if I defend you from wendigo again!"_

" _Ha! Ya didn't. You put me in a different humvee and didn't even wish me the best."_

 _Alistair did have the good grace to blush then and stuttered, "Y-y-you were fine! It all worked out. You were fine!"_

 _Alfred glanced at Arthur, now curious, "Hey Dad? Are pixies mean?"_

" _Nasty lil' buggers" Reilley answered._

" _-that bite" Alistair added. "And steal. And hide things. And make noise. And bite. Bite hard."_

 _Alfred turned wide eyes to Arthur for confirmation._

 _Arthur frowned, "It is true that some...some are not so...pleasant. But-"_

 _Both of Alfred's uncles groaned._

 _Reilley sighed in exasperation, "You'll be hard pressed to hear Arthur speak ill of any fairyfolk."_

" _So...they're NOT like...Disney's Pixie Hollow fairies?"_

 _His uncles roared with laughter-Reilley actually fell off the couch wheezing with mirth._

 _Great. Now he felt really stupid. He'd downloaded several movies for him and Arthur to watch-thinking he'd enjoy them._

 _He felt his cheeks burn and he turned away from them-only to realize that now he was facing Arthur who was biting his lip to try and keep his mouth from smiling._

 _Nope. Done for the night. Strike three he was out. He needed to cut his losses and go to bed early and escape this._

 _He slinked off not long after that giving a flat "goodnight" which prompted another round of sniggers at his expense._

 _Feeling sorry for himself he flopped pathetically on his bed._

 _There was gonna be a lot of this; him being a total newbie and everybody laughing at him over it._

 _He'd just started up a game of digital card solitaire on his laptop to take the edge off, when the door to his room opened._

 _Arthur had a large burgundy tome with tarnished silver markings in his arms._

 _He sat down on the bed-leaning against the headboard and beckoning Alfred over as he cracked the book open._

" _ **These**_ _are pixies, dear."_

 _Curiosity won over injured dignity and he crawled over-ducking under Arthur's arm for a better view._

" _Eep!" Alfred pulled a face._

 _Arthur nodded, "They...look quite a bit different than what you imagined?"_

 _Sure did. All pointed and thin and stretched…_

" _Some live in water and others in woodlands or glens. Quite a variety" he explained pointing to different illustrations._

 _Some with huge eyes…_

 _Others with wings or claws...or even fins…_

 _Many with sharp little teeth…_

 _Arthur noticed his gaze and admitted-amusement coloring his tone, "Yes; some do bite."_

 _Subconsciously he leaned back and Arthur rested his chin on top of Alfred's head._

" _You don't need to be afraid. Just treat them respectfully and they're unlikely to cause you trouble. And should they...well then, all you need do is tell me."_

 _As Arthur began going into depth about habitats and behaviors of pixies Alfred was more likely to encounter, his uncles peaked in._

" _We're heading off" Alistair remarked. "Phoned Wales. Still sounds jumpy so we're goin' ta check in on him."_

 _Reilley came over to the bed and deliberately ruffled both blond's hair, "_ _Slán go fóill!"_

" _We'll come back by before we head over to Kirkland Manor."_

Alfred slurped the leftover milk in his bowl.

All that morning Arthur had been running around frantically cleaning.

 _Ding._

"Your toast is done!" Alfred called.

His father practically collapsed into the chair across from him. He'd only eaten a few bites of toast before the doorbell rang.

He immediately bolted towards the door.

"Oh Alfred" he called-his tone a bit too expectantly for Alfred to think it was really a surprise "It seems we have visitors."

He padded over and there in the entryway: Finland and Sealand.

America managed to tack on a smile-he knew he was the reason behind this "surprise" visit.

Yesterday, while chilling in Arthur's office-he'd found himself preoccupied with Arthur's dying plant. Old man walked in on him cradling the small pot to his chest, stroking a few of its petals, and murmuring the last refrain of _Radiohead's "Creep."_

Because...well...obviously the plant was British, so the _Star Spangled Banner_ or anything by the _Eagles_ was kinda out of the question.

Yeah…

Yup…

He did that with plants sometimes.

And yeah...he knew it was kinda...unusual.

He quickly explained that touch could help trigger immune responses and that some plants actually liked to be touched.

What he couldn't quite explain was the tingling feeling he'd gotten in his fingers-or the way he could almost envision an electrical like energy slowly leaving his hands and entering the plant-meeting some sort of...source within it. Like an invisible hand looking for a power switch and turning it on.

" _And they like to be sang to?"_ England had asked surprisingly interested.

" _I dunno...I guess…"_ He'd set the plant back on the desk after that. _"Just got in that habit...whenever Tex left for solo jobs and missions and stuff, I usually focused on the garden..."_

" _...You're lonely in here...aren't you pet?"_ Arthur murmured-eyes looking sad.

Alfred blinked, _"I know you're busy."_

" _I'll see what I can do."_

If he'd have known that exchange would prompt Arthur into attempting to set him up on a playdate with Sealand…

He would've done everything in his power to convince him that he was one hundred percent a-okay with solitude.

It wasn't that he disliked Sealand, the kid kinda reminded him of himself when he was little…well little-er. But he also an irritating tendency to boast and make himself out to be a hero-which admittedly was sometimes cute...but it could be uber annoying when he tried to put himself into the same league of heroism as America.

Because...

Hell. No. Back The Truck Up. Don't even go there.

Finland gave him a cheery wave while Sealand stared.

"Wow" the micronation murmured "Molossia wasn't exaggerating."

America felt his eyebrow twitch-way to protect sensitive information Molossia!

"Berwald wanted to come but couldn't get out of his meetings" Finland explained as Arthur closed the door. "So he asked if I was willing to take Peter over. Anyway, here we are and-Oh!" He snapped his fingers. He turned around, pulling something out of his pocket and put it on.

He spun around, "Ta da!"

Alfred gasped and pointed, "You remembered!"

"I did!"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched at the sight of the fake beard now on Timo's face.

"My offer to you still stands. You can call me Papa Finland."

Finland seemed blissfully ignorant of the dark crackling aura that immediately surrounded England following that statement.

Alfred blinked considering it, "Wait right there! I gotta grab something from my room."

"Will do."

It was the perfect time to practice.

He jumped the last few stairs on his way back down, an index card held tightly in his fist.

"Okay, Papa Finland!"

"Yes!"

"Alfred!? You _**have**_ a fath-"

"I need you to be totally honest with me after I read this off-"

Timo nodded-clapping both hands on Sealand's shoulders to keep the boy still and giving him a side glance that warned him to listen politely.

A flustered Arthur interrupted with, "Alfred, I'm certain I can help you later with whateve-"

"Now keep in mind this'll be my first read through. So I'll probably make mistakes."

"I am glad to help" Timo assured-eyes bright.

Alfred cleared his throat and read off in his practiced, perky, plastic-ish, pageant voice (which he usually reserved for assemblies and when dealing with lawyers and lobbyists), "Good morning fellow nations, it is a pleasure to be among you today. I was and remain the United States of America. As you can see, my appara-sorry-appearance...ugh...Congress didn't use spellcheck...has been altered as a result of my recent recession and the swift growth I underwent as a colony in the 1700s...1770s actually...I'll...make that more specific. Uh...um...Right...please don't worry for me or yourselves as this "Age Adjustment" is not contagious and in no way affects my capabilities as a member of the G8. I will take this time now to thank you for your kind treatment of my representative Texas these past months. He was pleased to make your acquaintance…wow…I dunno if I can read _**that**_ off with a straight face…and my government thanks you for your inclusion of him and your understanding during this trying time. Any further questions regarding my condition or past absence can be directed to my staff. Thank you."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD

Comments, critiques, and cookies welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own HISHE. Or Bill Nye the Science Guy and its theme song. Or Fruit Shoots. Or CinemaSins, Superman, Lego Batman, Marvel, Supersmash Bros. Brawl, Mario Kart, or McDonald's and its menu items. Or Superman phrase "It's a bird, it's a plane…"

 **Warning:** Some profanity! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Finland has sauna competitions and if you look them up, they're intense and kinda crazy. Brief reference to Captain John Paul Jones. Japan has a giant mecha display (and no one on the globe is surprised). Panic attacks-they suck. More Fluff.

 **Special Warning:** Violent flashback. Dedicated to those of you who lost sleep wondering about Al during Wendigo. Spoiler: there will be more.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! And your love. It's so fun reading what you guys have to say. Sunsetonmars: Yes, it's amazing how parents often think "Hey, they're young. You're young. You'll be besties!" : D. And when it doesn't pan out-they'll still try another playdate—overly optimistic that your first-impression of the other kid was wrong. (Usually, it's just that they're good friends with the other kid's parent and are willing to keep smushing the two of you together until one or both of you get into such an ugly disagreement that the adults go O_O …guess they don't like each other. To one anonymous reviewer (who I will now affectionately dub 'Gold'): You've come to the right place and thank you for your review. _"America and Sealand... as playdates... *barf* I can see England forcing that to happen"_ Not gonna lie; I lol'd pretty hard at that. As for your disappointment regarding the efforts behind the index card...alas...I can see it happening...sadly, I've watched the government rush to tackle the issue of…serving chocolate milk in cafeterias with more zeal and concern rather than dare address a slew of other, ya know, immediate more important issues that might bruise a few toes. :/ And I don't like thinking how my taxes went into that battle…

Spoiling you guys with a pretty swift update! Enjoy! : D

 **Chapter 13: Jerkland, Jr.**

* * *

Alfred nodded as Timo suggested he say it in his own words so it sounded more natural.

Though whether that meant he should make the wording more or less casual-Alfred couldn't tell.

Not to be outdone England began advising, "More eye contact of course, once you're more familiar with the piece. And you'll want to stand up straight."

"And you're not going to field any questions? You've been away for a while..." Timo asked.

It made a cold chill run down his spine-just imagining trying to speak candidly about Osha and Nekosi or the whole Clinic Counseling thing…

" _Call me Osha" she replied steadily in her low, steady voice._

" _Yes, Dr. Oronhiatékha-I...I am pronouncing that right? Right?"_

" _You are."_

" _Wow, really? Surprising, I usually butcher-wait, Osha. You...you really want me to call you by your first name?"_

 _She gave a calm nod-her earrings swaying with the motion._

" _It's just you...you guys-girls-sorry-women-I mean professionals! Are so gungho about 'I graduated from so-and-so Acadamedy with high honors,' I…"_

" _Titles imply ranking, which create distance, and bring attention to and enforce the differences between people. Separation. That's largely the reason you have been sent here. You have become separated. You feel this separation. This….aloneness which harms you...and those around you. Separation is not what we wish to promote today. No; today, we are building bridges General Jones."_

 _He looked up at her in surprise. He'd expected her to automatically use his first name, "You…"_

 _She smiled, "My assistant and I will address you by what you deem feels most comfortable at this time."_

 _He took a deep breath. If he was gonna survive this session and earn a rave review from his Counselor, he needed to make some concessions. Besides...didn't he_ _ **want**_ _to get better? The sooner he got better, the sooner he could go home._

 _It was just like Arthur said:_

 _"They're not punishing you..._

 _I thought you prided yourself in trying new things._

 _If it works, you'll return to us rested and more productive."_

" _Alfred. Call me Alfred."_

 _She reached a hand out to cover his (which had the arm of his chair in a white knuckled death grip)._

" _Thank you Alfred. I appreciate how willing you are to make use of this opportunity. We shall make our way through this journey together."_

He was supposed to share this in front of people like Russia (who'd likely be amused) or China (who would probably tell it a whole bunch of times-and like a game of telephone wind up spreading weird inaccurate stories).

Not to mention, if he wasn't completely ready to share the whole thing with Tex (who could keep his opinions to himself until asked). How could he handle a room full of people who'd want to discuss or question or challenge him about it and why he didn't do X or Y to get himself out.

 _He grabbed at the nearest shrub, desperately ripping leaves and branches. Anything that could possibly anchor him. Nekosi ruthlessly dragged him until Alfred managed to twist one foot out of his grip and deliver a hard enough kick to make the man let go of him completely._

 _He barely made it to his knees, before Nekosi tackled him-the man used his full weight on Alfred's emaciated form. God, his kidneys._

 _He was too weak...too exhausted to do much more than flail and yell for help until Osha's disappointed face came into view sporting several bruises from when he'd fought his way out._

 _When her hand came and tried to caress his face or staunch the blood from where a branch had scratched him on the forehead-he tried to bite her fingers._

 _A more resigned expression crossed her features then, and she pulled out a bottle and a cloth._

 _After several attempts, Nekosi twisted Alfred's arms behind his back._

" _Please calm yourself Dyami," Osha pled. "If you would but listen, none of this would be necess-"_

" _HELP! FIRE! BOMB! HELP! SOMEBODY! TEXAS! TEX-"_

 _The cloth was held over his nose and mouth._

 _He tried his best to hold his breath, to keep the chemical from doing its work, but the need for air won._

 _They won._

 _The hero lost._

 _The world went hazy like an Impressionist's painting, blurring and swirling into colors as he was tossed over the man's shoulders like a sack of potatoes._

Alfred took a big steady breath.

He wouldn't call it pain, it was too empty a feeling and it immediately prompted him to halt it in his tracks before it could become something more.

He exhaled slowly.

He still had enough control over himself to freeze it. Like a bud under heavy frost-as long as he didn't let it open…

It sometimes made him imagine that he had frozen fields inside him.

He started as a hand rested on his shoulder.

Arthur had crossed over to stand beside him, "If he wants to keep certain information private, that's well within his rights."

He realized that somewhere in the time following Finland's question, Alfred had lost his smile and Timo was looking at him with open concern.

"Yup."

He quickly flashed a grin and skipped over-taking the soccer ball from under the man's arm.

Sealand gave chase and Alfred liked to think the awkward moment was lost.

The ball was confiscated pretty quick after he and Sealand ignored England's request to play outside and Sealand knocked over a small table with a chessboard-scattering chess pieces everywhere. There was still a black knight unaccounted for.

Alfred wouldn't say he liked being lectured about rough horseplay, but it lent a sense of normalcy that was calming.

And so began a morning chock full of him and Peter egging one another on as the adults talked in the parlor.

First it was various video games like Super Smash Bros. Brawl and Mario Kart and who could get the best score or the most smash balls or whatever. When they attempted to play Lego Batman they couldn't make it past the menu as neither was willing to compromise and play Robin.

Board games weren't quite a good fit for them either as Sealand was a poor sport with trivia based games (If it wasn't straight up battle history, which he was oddly well informed about, he didn't think it was fair). He also proved to be an absolutely unbearable winner at games of chance.

Their taste in anime differed too-with Sealand only wanting to watch shows with mecha and wasn't really into the magical quest series. And America could only watch so many Gundam episodes before he needed a break. More than once he thought to himself that Sealand ought to have a playdate with Japan-they could go ogle the Gundam Front Tokyo attraction in Koto for hours reenacting various scenes.

When Sealand couldn't appreciate HISHE or CinemaSins and wasn't a big fan of literature (Even British literature) and Alfred didn't feel like talking about the 1940s with him, America accepted that they just weren't gonna mesh intellectually either; they ended up jumping off stairs. Whoever could jump the most _**and**_ land on their feet would have bragging rights.

Sealand's longer legs gave him a definite advantage, but Alfred just had more combat experience; and they kept neck in neck until the racket they were making alerted the adults to their mischief.

Alfred couldn't help but feel rather grateful that the game ended prematurely-because Arthur saved him from totally eating it.

Like seriously.

He didn't know how the old man did it.

One minute he was all "blah blah blah my joints. You're wearing me out" and the next he had Jedi Master reflexes!

He managed to snatch Alfred out of the air-grabbing the back of his suspenders and keeping gravity from exacting her vengeance against stupid ideas...though it did mean enduring a lecture about foolhardiness.

A DVD of _Bill Nye the Science Guy_ was quickly set in the DVD player.

Alfred bounced happily in his seat singing along,

 _"Bill Nye the Science Guy_

 _Bill Nye the Science Guy_

 _Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill_

 _Bill Nye the Science Guy_

 _(Science rules)"_

As the theme song finished, and Bill introduced the subject of fossils, Sealand gave him an oddly triumphant leer.

Arthur and Timo were having tea in the room over discussing boring stuff like weather-though they kept the door open to better listen for juvenile instigated chaos.

"Betcha can't scare ol' Jerkland" Sealand taunted.

Aha, so now they'd transitioned into the realm of dares.

"I hear that he can still make you wet yourself on Halloween if he-"

"WHAT?! Who-who said that!?"

"Wy heard it from Australia who said Barbados _**witnessed**_ it!" Sealand replied smugly.

"N-nuh uh!" he argued, feeling his face heat up.

Dude. He was a toddler when that happened. It totally didn't count! Plus, that was like late 1650s. He was still mastering toilet training. So yeah, he had some accidents-over-tickling was another culprit that got _that_ particular result.

Which led him to accept the challenge; they'd both try to scare England. Whoever won would get to choose the next two DVDs they'd watch.

Sealand wanted to make the loser be forced to acknowledge him as a nation-which was his run of the mill demand for whenever he won anything-but Alfred laughed (as his usual response to that) before giving a hard "No" once again.

And so several minutes later, Alfred found himself doing a military low crawl into the parlor.

His mission became more difficult when Americat discovered him and decided it was a good time to try and nuzzle his face. Worse, Camelot seemed to think he was fair game and tried to swipe at his elbows as he moved.

Squeezing under the couch saved him from their feline attention and thankfully they didn't yowl and give away his location.

He took a deep breath as his target came into view.

He wriggled a bit closer.

A pair of boots were now just inches away.

Moment of truth!

He thrust both arms out-grabbing the ankles suddenly.

Nothing.

They weren't empty were they? Arthur hadn't removed them and just set them here. Dammit, he used to do that when they would play hide and seek sometimes.

He gave a squeeze.

No...it felt like they had feet but...there was still no reaction.

Was he asleep?

He pulled himself out farther and started to twist his torso to better see.

"Eep!"

Oh noes. The dreaded smirk!

He tried to escape but it was too late.

England's hands descended on either side of him-tickling him mercilessly and eliciting high pitched shrieks and giggles from him.

Arthur laughed heartily as he pulled Alfred out from under the sofa. And to his mortification (because he could see Sealand watching from the doorway and Finland was just a few feet away), England took that moment to nuzzle their noses together and laugh:"If you want my attention there _**are**_ less dramatic ways to go about it, pet."

He then set Alfred on his lap for a while as he and Timo resumed their conversation about saunas. First on how well it could treat rheumatic pain (which Arthur was really interested in) and then into the crazy sauna competitions which Timo admitted he often participated.

When Alfred squirmed one time too many, Arthur mentioned that there were still two coloring books in his briefcase. Commenting that Sealand might like borrowing the Marvel one while Alfred used the "special" one.

He perked up at the thought. Yesterday, when he wasn't babysitting the rosebush, he'd flipped through the second coloring book. Arthur had made it himself- _ **just**_ for Alfred!

The "Special One" which Arthur had hole punched and woven leather ties through to bind it; it even had two leather panels to act as a front and back cover. It made it look super mysterious and intriguing...and it was his.

There were some pictures of tribe-like scenes (Though they all wore robes instead of deerskin and their plaits and braids looked decidedly different from the ones he'd grown up knowing).

There were also pictures of different kinds of magic creatures (including a really wicked looking serpent that Alfred both looked forward to and dreaded coloring-cuz he'd probably end up dreaming about it).

There were puzzles and word searches and dotted line versions of the knots Arthur had shown-for Alfred to trace and practice making on his own!

He really wanted to memorize the "Strength" knot.

And-and-and….it was made for _**him**_!

"Kay!"

Plus, if he was doing that-it'd save him from any more of Sealand's dares at least for a little while.

He rushed out of the room-ignoring Arthur's rebuke to walk as he quested for the coloring books in the older man's office.

Once he had his prize in his arms, he hurried back toward the parlor. If he could learn the "Strength" knot well enough to freehand it, Arthur would probably be really impressed!

Arthur had already told him that drawing the knots could be tricky.

He was almost there…when a zombie jumped out.

* * *

The teacup fell from Arthur's numb fingers-shattering loudly as the porcelain met the floor.

Royal Chelsea. Red with golden filigree. Hand painted.

He didn't care.

Heart pounding in his throat, he raced out of the room with Finland on his heels.

Fae? Ghost? Burglar? A horrific memory? God, if Iroquois had somehow gotten loose!

That scream. That bloodcurdling scream!

He hurled himself around the corner to see Alfred cowering behind a faux ficus tree feet away from a very short "zombie" in a sailor outfit...whose sniggering was muffled by his gruesome latex mask.

Of all the cruel pranks...

Arthur ripped the Halloween mask off of Sealand's head startling the boy.

"Peter J. Kirkland you explain yourself this minute young man!"

Peter's eyebrows drew together sullenly as he crossed his arms, "N-not my fault he scares so easily."

"Now, now," Finland assured-coaxing Alfred to stand back up, "There's no danger."

Arthur gripped Peter by the upper arm and brought him into the parlor.

"Of all the insidious, inconsiderate-Peter! He's only recently been returned to us! He was captured boy! Tormented! And you think it's fair play to prey on that? That was very unkind of you to do."

"I...I just…"

He gave the lad a shake, "Bad form Peter! _**Bad**_ form."

When he'd scolded the boy enough to make him sniffle remorsefully, he pointed to the mess of tea and smashed porcelain.

"Clean that up. That resulted from your foolish hijinks. You know where the cleaning supplies and dustpan are. Hop to it. And apologize to America first."

Sealand wiped his now runny nose on his sleeve and trudged over to where the smaller blond was sitting on an footstool-hugging his coloring books to his chest.

"I-I...I'm sorry...that...you're such a big crybaby."

"Peter" Arthur warned darkly "We can deal with the matter now or I can call Berwald tonight."

Peter stiffened. If he chose the latter, it would mean a full day of worrying for the boy.

"F-fine. J-jerkland. I...I'm sorry Alfred. I was just...playing I…that-that wasn't funny to you...I...I am sorry."

Arthur looked to see how well Alfred received the apology. The little one's face was still red and blotchy...and angry.

"Y-you're mean. A-a-and you can't play with my Marvel coloring book or my video games or nothing now!"

England blinked and sighed as he knelt down next to the boy-resting a hand on the little foot which was trembling anxiously, "Alfred. He did a mean thing. That doesn't mean he's "mean" in and of himself-"

"It's not Halloween. Scaring people when it's not-" he glared at Sealand "That's like a penalty-foul-black-flag, Jerkland Jr!"

Sealand flinched.

"Alfred" Arthur warned sternly. Since Sweden's adoption of Sealand, England was limited when it came to disciplining Peter. Thankfully, Peter never pushed matters too far. A scolding usually did the trick.

Alfred though...Alfred had a penchant for paying lip service. He'd better behave. Sovereign nation or not, Alfred could easily earn a swat from Arthur, if he didn't watch himself.

Especially if he attacked the likes of Sealand who, while immature and occasionally obnoxious, was so far below America in terms of power, knowledge, and brute strength. It wouldn't be fair to let Alfred loose on the other boy.

"Alfred" he repeated.

"Not fair. I've always gotta be the good guy when people are mean to me" Alfred grumbled setting the coloring books down on the floor with a hard thump, so he could cross his arms across his chest.

"I know, but that's what separates heroes from the rest."

Alfred glanced at him as if to gauge his sincerity.

Alfred nodded miserably and muttered tersely, "S'okay Peter. I'm okay and I won't call you that again. Sorry."

It was a shame; the hope had been that if Alfred and Peter had gotten along well, Alfred could've spent a few days with him and Berwald-having a slumber party with anime and video games and candy.

Next week, Arthur had an all day meeting and a presentation the following day. He hadn't wanted the child to feel lonely in his absence. He'd originally planned to have Scotland watch him (but considering his older brother's behavior as of late) he'd begun looking for alternatives.

Not to mention Peter and Wy were friendly with one another and would be the closest in age to Alfred during their winter festivities.

But if they couldn't get on with one another...

Arthur sighed and tousled the golden hair.

As Finland apologized and offered to replace the broken cup (feeling responsible since he was Sealand's caretaker for the day), he began to dread what having both under one roof for over a week would result in.

* * *

England decided a jaunt over to McDonald's was in order for lunch to try and clear the air.

As he opened the right rear door, his fears were confirmed-Alfred had entered a truly, rotten, full blown sulk.

"Stop using the child lock. I'm not Australia" Alfred glowered as he hopped out of the vehicle.

Yes; Alfred was in quite a surly mood-arms crossed tightly over his chest, feet shuffling.

As they waited in line, Arthur noted that Peter's earlier remorse had dissipated greatly-smugness seeping in its place, "You're just angry because I won. In fact, I won double; I got you _**and**_ England and-"

Arthur gave him a warning look and Timo gave Peter a sharp tap on the head-the twelve year old suddenly found his shoes very interesting.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Alfred exploded. "Weird stuff's happening. My toothpaste was in an entirely different place this morning and had bitemarks! I had to go hunting for it."

Arthur gave him an incredulous look.

"Hey, yes; Americat does eat a lot of weird stuff, but fluorite isn't a favorite taste for him. He's not the reason it wound up in your sewing room. Plus! He's got little furry paws. How would he open the door? He hasn't mastered knobs yet-just handles."

"Maybe one of your uncles borrowed it and…"

"Decided to snack on it while knitting?" Alfred sneered.

Possibly. It was very likely they'd found Arthur's stash of rum behind the bust of Shakespeare and then made questionable food choices. It was probably Reilley.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Do you know what you'd like?"

The prospect of food lightened Alfred's countenance tremendously-adding a sparkle to his eyes which had been absent for the last half hour.

"Two, no, three happy meals pleeeeease. One with a burger, one with fish fingers, and one with nuggets. Please. All with fries. Please."

Well, England mused, he'd learned to add "please..."

One too many times to sound especially sincere...but…

He smiled. He could address that later.

Still, that was an awful lot of food and he'd noticed that between his smaller size and the fortitude spell breaking-he wasn't eating as much as he used to.

And since he had a tendency to clean his plate and he didn't want him getting a stomach ache, Arthur decided to negotiate.

"Two happy meals. Burger. Nuggets. One with fries, one with apple slices."

"But...they're happy meals, they don't come with lots of fries."

"You can share some of mine."

"Milkshake."

"No."

"Mcflurry?"

"Try again."

"Fruit smoothie?"

"Heading in the right direction."

"Fine. Just a coke then."

"Ha. You're funny. You get two Fruit Shoots."

"But...only two happy meals...and fruit juice. That's not a lotta calories. What if I'm hungry afterwards?"

" _If_ you're still hungry, we'll order more. Alright? Let's start with this."

Alfred chewed his lip and stared rather seriously into Arthur's eyes.

"I skipped breakfast."

Arthur blinked. No he didn't. He had a bowl of cereal this-

"And they wouldn't let me have as much as I wanted for lunch. And before I knew it breakfast wasn't offered anymore-just coffee. And then we couldn't have coffee. And then most of the dinners were salads and I started to dream about restaurants cuz I went to bed hungry. All the food went away a little bit at a time. And then I was always hungry. And I was always tired. And they kept trying to make me forget about food, but I wouldn't. And it made them mad at me. And then they tried to make me forget about your eyes, but I wouldn't. And then things got bad." He looked up, eyes wide, "Can't I just have the third happy meal? Even if I don't eat it. Can't I just take the food with me. For if I get hungry later?"

Arthur immediately picked the quivering boy up, and held him tightly, "I promise you, I won't let you go hungry. We'll get the two happy meals. And if you're still hungry, I swear on Buckingham Palace that I will get you the third meal. And when dinner time comes, we'll eat then. And if you're hungry before then, tell me; we'll find a shop and get you something. And if you need a little something before bedtime, you are welcome to anything in the pantry or refrigerator."

The trembling continued as they moved further up the line.

He knew what this was.

The shallow breathing.

The rapid heartbeat.

The cold hands on his neck.

The chest tightening fear of being trapped echoed through their bond.

It was a panic attack.

To be honest, considering everything Alfred had been through and his behavior that morning (Goodness, that "thousand-yard"-stare he'd given them) plus Peter's nasty little stunt-Arthur wasn't surprised at all.

Very common symptom of PTSD.

He was actually sort of relieved to have it out in the open. It meant that (subconsciously at least) Alfred finally felt "safe enough" to begin reflecting and moving through the events emotionally.

Very likely he'd have several more attacks as he waded through the traumatizing memories of his captivity.

"Dammit" was muttered very softly in his ear "Dammit I know that. Dammit."

"Do you need us to go somewhere more quiet?"

Alfred shook his head stubbornly.

"What do you need? Tell me."

"..."

The arms around his neck tightened.

"I'm nearly at the counter now. Do you still want to eat here?"

There was a nod and a heavy puff of breath against his neck.

Arthur rubbed small circles into his back, feeling the effects of the panic attack ebbing as he made their order.

This was confirmed when Alfred twisted around to correct the cashier when he made a mistake. Once he was satisfied the order was correct-he rested his head on Arthur's shoulder and grumbled about cashiers not listening and expecting their customers to just accept their incorrect meal.

"Feeling better?" he asked as they approached where Finland and Sealand had saved a table.

He nodded.

"Would you like to discuss-"

He shook his head.

"You may feel better after."

He still shook his head no..BUT for the first time since he'd begun asking that question over a month ago, Alfred had hesitated-seriously considering it before declining the offer.

So close.

Arthur just needed to be patient.

"You...you felt…just now...didn't you?"

"Yes."

"...do...do you ever have…?"

"I'm over two millennia old and I have a large family. Of course."

Goodness. The child really seemed to think he lived in a vacuum. He was the only personification to ever experience night terrors. The only one to ever feel anxiety.

Alfred let out a breath of obvious relief-sagging in Arthur's arms.

Arthur kissed his temple and sat down.

He was a bit disappointed though: forget his eyes?

He wanted to hear more about that.

He didn't like to imagine that he'd been used as an instrument of torment.

Not to mention...using food as a means to control Alfred!

Despicable.

He'd always had issues with food and his captivity had clearly exacerbated it.

Poor thing.

It was an emotional wound-it needed to be cleaned out so it could heal. The only way it could be done was by talking it out.

Perhaps...later tonight he could ask Alfred to clarify.

By the time he looked up a "War of the Raspberries" had commenced with both children attempting to outdo one another.

"Boys" Arthur warned. "We can go straight home with the meal. No PlayPlace."

Alfred gasped as though injured, slapping a hand to his chest dramatically, "But we gotta ride all the slides and I have to climb up at least one."

Sealand scoffed, "That place is for babies"

"Wha!? Nuh-uh. It's a wonderland of static electricity and-"

" _ **My**_ sense of fun is more sophisticated than running around in my socks-"

"You played in one last month" Finland commented offhandedly. "Didn't you name yourself King Peter of Pla-"

"T-timo! I'm older now and-" Peter blushed.

"Big whup. Arthur played in there with me last month. Didn't cha, Dad? And we had a battle in the ball pit; Hero versus-"

England flushed and felt practically euphoric that his order was called before he had to answer for anything.

He could feel Finland's amused stare as he set Alfred on his feet and made his way to the counter-intending to give a nod of acknowledgement to the food server and whisk his tray away.

"Artie?" A woman asked in obvious surprise.

"E-eva?"

Yes. It was her. Clad in uniform with several of her facial piercings absent and rather neutral makeup, she looked quite a bit...tamer. Though her nails were a shocking electric purple and there was something about her general air that made her still seem rather...wild.

"Ha! Nice jumper. Didn't think I'd catch you visitin' an establishment that...how did you say it? _'Vulgarly celebrates commercialism'_?"

He felt his cheeks warm, but before he could retort-

"The hero has come to help you bear the tray!" Alfred announced trotting up.

Eva glanced down, looked back at Arthur and raised an eyebrow-waiting for confirmation.

He felt his face heat up even more as he gave an affirmative nod.

She grinned, "'ello there, luv."

"Hi."

"I'm a mate of your dad's."

Alfred gave her a look of disbelief, "Really?"

Arthur felt himself bristle at the tone-as if he couldn't fathom Arthur having friends.

She laughed, "My name's Eva, what's yours?"

"Alfred."

"Pleasure to meet you Alfie."

"Al- _ **fred**_ " he repeated-emphasizing the last half of his name-ending with a hard "d."

She chortled, "Oh he's yours alright. You are jus' like your father. Isn't he Artie?"

In their initial meeting, he too had railed at the too-familiar shortening of his name from Arthur to Artie.

Alfred however was a better sport than Arthur had been and simply decided the best course of action was to ignore her.

He began giving orders-in a similar obnoxious way he handled collaborative war missions, "I got the tray; you get the napkins. And straws. And plastic cutlery."

"Yes. Fine. What? Why? You don't need-"

"I need it for my backpack. Emergency spoon. It's important."

"What sauce would you like, luv?"

"Barbecue! Sweet n' Spicy! And a mystery one-your choice!" After Eva deposited several dipping sauces onto his tray, he sped away.

"Thank you" Arthur nodded "I'll try to see to it that he doesn't destroy anything. A pleasure to see you, now I'll leave you to-"

"Definitely not what I expected when I imagined you with a kid."

He nodded-calmly waiting for her to comment on the child's accent or ask about his "mum." He could then segue into the backstory he'd created for them.

Or perhaps it was something even more innocuous. Something along the lines of what a handsome child he was. Most of the shops they'd visited for clothing had been quick to comment on Alfred's good looks.

"Can't believe he didn't get your eyebrows. Perhaps he'll acquire them in the teen years. Rite of passage." she waggled her own eyebrows suggestively.

His twitched in response to the teasing.

"So _**that's**_ America, right?" she murmured "No wonder he gets away with so much shi-" she immediately glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping "stuff." She grinned, "He's adorable."

England froze.

She shrugged, "I've been meanin' to ask ya fer a while; ya ever going to correct all the 'Mother England' references?"

Damnation.

She'd figured it out!

"Hey Eva?" Alfred called coming back up to the counter "My happy meals had the same toy can I exchange one?"

He immediately pulled the child behind him.

"Daddy?"

Eva walked out from behind the counter-slipping past a customer who was making a god-awful-long order.

Alfred tried to peek around his parent's leg, but Arthur moved again to block him from view.

"Sorry" Eva murmured softly "Bollocks...I didn't transition into that very well, did I?"

She offered Alfred a new toy option.

"How's this one, poppet?"

"Superman! Yessss." He quickly exchanged with her "Daddy look!" He held the figurine up. "It's a bird. It's a plane. It's-"

Arthur picked him up and immediately took a step back. He could leave. If he was quick, he could leave right now. Call Timo on his cell and have him get Sealand out of there.

"Daddy?" Alfred blinked in concern. "H-hey...now _**you**_ feel funny. Are you okay?"

When no answer was given, the child glanced from his parent to the human and apparently had an epiphany.

He glared, "Don't insult his cooking Eva! Yeah we're here and I know there's certain connotations with that, but his food is still…somewhat edible! I can eat it; Mattie's just a lightweight that's all."

Eva blinked and then her expression softened.

"Don't worry" she held her hands up in a placating manner as she approached.

She dropped her voice low, "I think I'm…patriotic enough that my nation doesn't have to be afraid…I mean no harm to ya…either of ya…I-"

"Oh…" Alfred relaxed "she figured it out, huh? Now, whose is she?" He looked confusedly from one to the other. "I can't tell; is she one of yours or mine? You sound like him…gah you're one of his-but you give off a vibe like me. That means it's not too late for you. Be like Captain John Paul Jones! Alistair and I shared him! Actually, a lot of us shared him-dude was adventurous. Hmm, that sounds kinda…I don't mean it like…I mean…he was an adventurer. That's what I mean. If he was into…that other kind of stuff, I dunno…but that's not important!"

Both Britons stared at him.

Here Arthur was deeply concerned for their safety and Alfred was…

Arthur blinked in realization.

Before their separation, they'd covered the danger of being mistaken for a witch. The importance of moving from place to place to hide their youthful longevity. They'd even gone over which sort of people to reveal themselves to.

But they never broached the topic of what to do should a human discover for his or herself what they were.

"Ooooh. Pick me" Alfred promoted shamelessly. "Liberty, opportunity, and who knows maybe I'll have another Gold Rush? I'm due for good luck."

"Son…"

Alfred flashed a thumbs up and a sparkling white smile, "Pick me. Because ** _I'm_** the Hero!"

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Broadway song "I'm A Yankee Doodle Boy." Or Indiana Jones. Or Washington Irving's _Rip Van Winkle_. Or Song: _Scarborough Fair._ Or the McDonald's menu items. Or Disney. Or Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). The writer winds up ranting in the Note below. Itsy bitsy reference to the Māori Wars in New Zealand (1860s). Kids getting jealous. Plot spoiler for _Rip Van Winkle_. Wales still isn't here. Antique dolls can be pretty creepy. Poor Canada. Poor Antique Shop Owner. Beware...me mateys...there be feels ahead...

 **Note:** Coolness! One reviewer let me know that apparently, Wendigo has been nominated for the 2016 Hetalia Awards-here on this site. Woo! (Vote for TX). Thank you so much for your reviews. Love 'em. To another reviewer-you're right-I need to work in some reference to the Hamilton Musical at some point. (Love to the ten dollar bill! Alexander Hamilton was instrumental in the creation of our nation. Don't let them demote him! Especially not for the sake of PC-ness. Seriously. Just make a $25 dollar bill and let us "vote" for a lady from a list of nominations at the polls this year. And then the fake issue can end and the media can have its field day running an hour long special about the new historical female figure on the bill and how "revolutionary" it is and how elementary schools celebrated the event. And then it can be DONE...and maybe we can focus on something that's actually of immediate importance-like lead poisoning in water sources and the Zika virus. Yeeeeah...and rawrcoughcough my rant ends…*Deep breath* Thank you...thank you for your reviews! They feed me! : D

 **Fun Fact:** Sir David Brewster-Scottish inventor of kaleidoscopes-intended for experiments of light polarization etc. (1815-16ish) but had wild success as a toy rather than a tool. Tons of kaleidoscopes were sold in London and Paris before heading across the pond to be manufactured in about 1818-ish. Unfortunately, the inventor's patent wasn't airtight-and others were allowed to copy his design. However, he went onto making advances in stereoscopes and improving lighthouse lenses. (Look him up, he's interesting.)

Enjoy the chap! : DDD

 **Chapter 14: With All My Heart**

* * *

Arthur ate his grilled chicken wrap while shooting pensive looks at his uninvited guest.

Eva had chosen to take her lunch break then and was sitting at the table beside theirs to talk with him.

She took a moment away from her Crispy Chicken salad to show him her phone.

"See?" It was a preteen girl with short lavender hair at a concert. "Tha's me. But right there" she indicated with a finger. "Tha's you."

Yes.

Yes, there he was. In the background.

"That was twelve years ago."

She swiped the screen and several more pictures of himself in the crowd appeared.

"Thought you were a vampire or a time traveler or something for a while. And then I met you officially and some of things you waffle on about when you're lagered-well it just makes more sense that-"

"Good going Jerkland. Bang up job on keeping yourself anony-"

"Peter. Behave or I'll tell Berwald."

She glanced at Sealand.

"That's what I imagined" she told him frankly.

"Younger brother" he muttered.

"Northern Ireland?" She asked excitedly.

Peter bristled "Sealand."

"Oh. Oho. And you're America" she rested her chin on her hand as she studied him.

Alfred glanced up and gave a cheerful wave, "Yup."

"But you're...well you're older but you're younger?"

"Yup. Don't think about it too hard. Just go with it."

"And you're a superpower?"

"That's right ma'am. I'm large and in charge."

"And you are?"

"Timo" The Finnish man answered.

"'ello Timo, and your beard?"

"Made by China."

Arthur felt his knee bob nervously. It made him awfully uncomfortable-the curious way she kept looking at his boy.

He'd purposely had Alfred switch seats. The child assumed it was so he could better talk with his "friend." Arthur, however, still felt it was prudent to shield him from full view.

He couldn't help it; the last time a woman took an unhealthy amount of interest in his child-he was forcibly separated from him for half a year.

"I mean. I s'pose it makes sense. Kinda poetic and all that. That your son would be a Yan-" at Arthur's glare she hastily corrected herself "I mean American."

"Yeah, I'm a Yankee" Alfred responded in that defiant tone that always set Arthur's teeth on edge.

" _A Yankee Doodle Dandy._

 _A Yankee Doodle do or die."_

"No. Please, no patriotic singing…Alfred. Please."

" _A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam._

 _Born on the Fourth of July._

 _I've got-"_

"Alfred, for the love of my sanity, please!" God, he could feel it giving him a headache already.

Alfred stilled and then went back to crunching apple slices or did for a moment. He slid off the chair and moved around to better talk to Eva.

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and hurriedly whispered to her, _"Yankee Doodle came to London just to ride the ponies-I AM a Yankee Doodle Boy!"_

She laughed and ruffled his hair.

Dammit, it made him nervous: how immense interest could make human eyes shine.

He'd been along too many hunts in the safari and voyages up north where people aimed for cubs and pups for the sake of expensive coats and exotic pets.

He slipped an arm around Alfred's middle and pulled him onto his lap. Which simultaneously kept him out of Eva's grasp and gave Arthur the opportunity to wipe several flecks of drying ketchup off his face.

"Ackhh, gah! Brit spit attack. Noooo."

So melodramatic.

"I changed my mind" she remarked "I think 'Mother England' _**is**_ the right nickname."

Arthur felt his face heat up as he frowned.

Alfred took that moment to untangle himself from England's arms and sprinted for the PlayPlace structure-kicking his shoes off and scrambling onto the equipment yelling "Give me Liber-"

"Alfred! Your trainers go in the shoe cubby." He pointed.

Dejected, Alfred trudged back down and gave him a look.

"Now."

Alfred frowned.

"Now boy. Do you want someone to trip over them? Get hurt?"

"No, I don't want my fav place to have another lawsuit" Alfred grumbled and put the shoes away.

"Good boy."

"So your government and his split" Eva murmured.

He frowned and nodded. Perhaps he should've opted for a soda-he could've used the caffeine and sugar to buoy him through this interrogation. Alfred would've been beside himself with anger if Arthur had dared to be a hypocrite though.

She sighed "Divorces. They're...ugh. I know. I just...I keep wondering how you do it? Do you have visitation rights or…?"

He blinked and looked over.

There.

In her face; genuine curiosity...and….empathy?

She prodded at her salad, "Does his government have custody then? But...how would that work? I mean...he'll outlive whoever…and...oh that would be so depressing for the mite..."

It made him feel a little better. She wasn't a mad scientist or carnival talent scout. But she could still slip up and mention them to someone dangerous.

"Hm. Sorry. I'm just chatting on. Really not my business, I know. It's just-I mean I deal with this with Emma. It's...Her Dad and I have joint-custody so-"

"...We were separated."

She nodded sympathetically.

Arthur swallowed hard.

"And as an Empire you had loads of territories, right? Were they all...? I've got this picture in me head of you in a shoe with loads of kids" she giggled.

He frowned, "Not all of them were children when I took them in."

"But some were? Where are they now?"

"Mostly grown."

"But he isn't? How's that poss-"

Arthur huffed, "We all age at different rates. Depends on a multitude of factors. From industrialization to population to landmass to how much of the land they share with other personifications to how they were born. We're all different. He could be a child for a span of decades. He could be a child for several centuries. It's difficult to say."

"Never gonna read them textbooks the same way again...Christmas must be _**murder**_ buying for them all."

Arthur bristled, "I keep a list."

"And you check it twice?" she batted her eyes.

He pursed his lips unamused.

"I just got one and two nephews. And that's enough to drive me mad. I can't imagine-"

He huffed, "Not that difficult. Spent time with them all. I know their hobbies."

"And they're _**all**_ yours? Busy, busy."

He felt his face warm, "Depends on what went into making them, when they were made, and how much of it was mine rather than say one of my brothers or someone else-New South Wales versus New Holland and whatnot. We're not... _made_...the same way as you."

"So...less fun for you" she quipped pointing a fork at him.

He flushed.

He gestured at Alfred who was romping around in the ballpit. "He's mine." He felt a surge of pride as the words left him. "Born through my influence, by the settling of my explorers and colonists, in my fort in the New World."

"So he's dual citizenship then?"

England blinked. Boy _was_ born in one of his territories prior to their separation. Between that and his paternity...technically…

He ought to qualify.

He'd have their governments work on that.

He also wanted to see Kirkland as his last name again...but he had to tread cautiously there.

"And to think we've got planes and phones now...but back then... after your troubles...did you both write each other? How did you keep in touch?"

They didn't. Not beyond their duties as nations.

It sent a sharp zing through him.

It must've shown.

"Oh Artie, I'm sorry" Eva swiftly apologized "You two are makin' a day, and I'm dredgin' up the past. I just-"

"Look!" a high pitched voice called "Lookit! Daaaad. Look!"

Arthur focused in on Alfred who had swiped several brightly colored plastic balls. He wasn't planning on pelting them, was he?

"Are you watching?"

"I'm watching, pet."

Tongue between his teeth he began juggling them.

"Well done."

"Yeah, and I'm not a cop out that juggles with just two. _I've_ got four!"

"So I see."

Alfred grinned and opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted when a plastic ball hit him hard in the face-making him drop everything.

"Peter!" Arthur hissed teeth bared.

The lad immediately ducked back into the tunnel after firing his projectile.

Alfred gave a dark look, eyeing the innards of the tunnel, focusing on his quarry. He picked up a plastic ball and cocked it back.

"Alfred. No!"

With America's strength (even without the fortitude spell enhancing it) there was no telling what havoc that could wreak.

The child gave him a glare.

"Alfred."

The child's face was going blotchy with anger.

"Alfred, please come here."

The boy gave him an incredulous look.

"Please come here" he repeated.

The child stalked over, breathing heavily.

Arthur enfolded him in a hug, "I know. I know he's bullying you today. And I know it's hard to resist fighting back and I appreciate that you're making such an effort. I will let Berwald know _**exactly**_ how Peter behaved today."

He glanced over and saw Finland now had the twelve year old by the upper arm and was shaking his head-face grave with disappointment.

"I haven't done anything to him" Alfred growled.

"I know Sweetheart."

"I didn't!"

"I know that. I think it'd be best if we end the playdate now."

"I didn't get to ride the slides!" He pulled back in dismay.

"We'll come back another day."

"Awwww…" Alfred looked over at Peter and then back at Arthur. He chewed his lip and sighed "you promise?"

Arthur cupped the child's face, "I promise. And you can clamber all over the place to your heart's content."

"And I can have a sundae?"

"Why not."

"And fries?"

"I suppose."

"Can I wear a cape?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"And you'll pla-"

"Careful Artie, he'll have you promising the moon."

"Pffft. Been to the moon" Alfred quipped "That's like so 1969 ago. I'm onto Mars now."

She laughed goodnaturedly, "If I'm working that day, Alfie. I'll see to it that you get that sundae and fries and a discount."

"Discount?! Yessss."

Ah. Discount. The word which solidified Eva and Alfred's friendship.

Arthur shook his head and smiled, stifling a chuckle as he glanced at the small feet whose socks didn't match the rest of his outfit.

He brought the child in for another hug-burying his nose in the golden hair.

He was going to have to email Berwald today and make it frightfully clear that if Peter was going to be beastly to poor Alfred, he wasn't going to be welcome at the country estate.

How was he supposed to convince Alfred to come to more of his planned events, if he couldn't guarantee the boy would be well-treated?

* * *

Alfred yawned and stretched. He turned over and saw his old man was still snoozing. One too many nightmares about zombies and wendigo had landed him here.

Stupid Sealand.

If it wasn't enough he'd made it his personal mission to be a jerk to him, he finished the day by throwing a tantrum.

Alfred wasn't British (so his sensibilities likely weren't as scandalized as theirs) but it was still embarrassing.

When Finland pulled him into the view of their table, Peter had broken down into tears and pointed an accusing finger at Arthur and him, _"You...you never...you_ _ **never**_ _….me...like…"_

Weird.

Whatever.

 _He'd have tanned my hide if I'd been like that,_ Alfred thought reminiscently. Heck, even when he'd been a colonial teenager-he hadn't escape a few last switches-his height and age be damned.

Instead, they'd hurried Peter outside for either privacy or embarrassment and had Alfred wait in the car with the window cracked while they took Peter a little ways away to talk with him.

The wind, the distance, and the low volume made it impossible to properly eavesdro-er-distinguish exactly what they were saying…

The adults nodded while Peter gesticulated and rubbed at his eyes and stuff...and it ended with each adult giving him a hug.

Lucky bastard-very few of his arguments ever ended like that. He usually got a slap-typically of the "How-dare-you" or "Hold-yourself-together-man" variety.

An arm draped over him and Arthur snuggled closer-reminding him of wintry days long past. Sometimes, when he'd been little, he'd jam the clocks so the chiming of the hour wouldn't come and they could just stay together.

It figured that the grandfather clock in the hallway chose that moment to ring-eight o'clock.

Arthur had a telephone conference at four-there was a post it on the phone to act as a reminder, but the rest of the day before then was theirs. And that was good because Alfred had checked his email last night.

He'd gotten a reminder that the G8 were holding an informal Secret Santa swap on Friday to encourage friendliness between the members.

No conference-it would just be food and presents! Hell yeah, he was down with that.

His results were in for the Secret Santa-he'd gotten...France.

There was a fifty Euro limit…and he'd gotten the snobbiest guy of all! Who happened to be hosting the get together too!

How the hell was he supposed to impress France under such circumstances?

He doubted there was a wine bottle that cheap that Francis would accept. Would getting him a bouquet be weird?

Yeah, Alfred liked flowers and he was pretty sure Arthur still did (though that was a little iffy...he used to...or at least he'd never turned down flowers from him, back when he was a colony but…)

Dammit. He was doomed!

He huffed and turned over to see half-lidded green eyes.

"G-g-g'morning" Alfred stammered-aware after the fact-that his voice was too loud.

The green eyes crinkled in a smile.

Funny, how Arthur's eyes got the memo to smile first...before the rest of his face followed suit...if it did.

For Alfred it was usually his mouth-or maybe he'd practiced smiling too much and it was a conditioned reflex. He didn't like to think that though; he considered himself a pretty cheerful person by nature.

"Good morning."

"Um. Did you check your email about the Secret Santa thing? Cuz I did last night and I got France and I dunno what to get him but whatever I get, it's gotta be today or tomorrow-do you have any ideas-you've been frenemies for forever-what nonalcoholic things does he like?"

Arthur blinked.

"Who'd you get?"

"..."

"C'mon who'd you get?"

Arthur gave him a mysterious smile.

Alfred's cheeks puffed in displeasure and Arthur laughed.

Geez. What was so fun about teasing him?

Unless…

Alfred grinned, "Is it me? Cuz there's a whole bunch of stuff that you could get me for under fifty and I'd really like-"

Arthur chuckled, "Sorry Sweet, I did read my email. I didn't get you."

"Oh…"

"China."

"Whatcha gonna get him?"

"I have an idea."

Several hours later in an emporium of highly breakable merchandise, Alfred felt his eyebrow twitch.

"A tea set?" Alfred deadpanned. "Fulfilling stereotypes here: U.K. and China...care about tea."

Arthur delivered a soft swat to Alfred's head, "Hush, you. Yao and I have a long history when it comes to tea-"

"Well, at least it's not opium-you've got quite a history there too and-"

He got a harder swat for that.

A change in topic was in order.

"I haven't seen anything that Francis would want, have you?"

"Perhaps, you can ask Mathieu tomorrow."

"Mattie's coming over?" His interest piqued-things hadn't ended with his brother the way he wanted at Thanksgiving and given how well things were going with Arthur he was feeling more optimistic.

"I put it on the dry-erase calendar in the kitchen."

"Oh."

"Alfred...Do check it now and then."

"Heh heh, right."

As they traveled along, visiting various shops and boutiques, Alfred admired the Christmas decorations-yeah, it wasn't the same explosion of yuletide festivity as he had back home (Arthur would probably say it was more "tasteful") but it definitely lifted his spirits.

He squeezed Arthur's hand as he noticed an antique shop he wanted to enter.

"I somehow doubt Francis' gift is there" Arthur remarked but indulged him anyway.

Ah, the musty, dusty smell of history lining the shelves.

Books. Vases. Vintage Clothing.

He pulled a face, "Ugh. Old dolls, they're so creepy."

The glass cabinet was full of them-all sizes. Many with their faces scratched or scuffed. Some with tangled hair. Others with missing eyes or arms.

1940s. 1920s. 1900s. 1800s.

The features became cruder, more simplistic, more...creepy.

He leaned closer in spite of himself.

Arthur tapped his fingers on Alfred's head.

He looked up and saw Arthur's amused expression, "Don't go looking for nightmares now. I remember Olivia's dolls always gave you the willies."

Alfred frowned-any mention of Barbados always put a damper on things.

He hurried over to the window display which had drawn him in here.

He prepped his phone to take a pic.

Yeah, there was a tiny crack at the top of the screen, but it was still working fine-it just had an adventure that was all.

He took several pictures-trying to get the most flattering angle.

"Ah a galloper."

At Alfred's blank stare, Arthur replied, "Merry-go-round."

"Mhmm."

His eyes lingering on the music box's well crafted horses and the little jewel studs in their bridles.

Maybe on his last day here he could purchase it and have it shipped back to the states.

Tex would probably razz him about buying a "sissy" toy-but he'd always wanted one really bad and his boss would just be relieved that he was getting a toy version rather than a fullsize one.

England took a smaller, newer one that wasn't locked up, and wound its top.

Soon tinkling music filled the air.

Arthur softly sang along, _"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?"_

"That one's my favorite" Alfred pointed to the one in the window display.

Arthur shook his head at the sight of the much larger toy, "Of course it is."

"It has a key."

The sunlight glinted on the winding key.

"See there?" Arthur gestured to a nearby basket of kaleidoscope tubes, modern-cheaply-made versions. The pricey antique ones were kept behind glass where small fingers couldn't get at them.

"Brings back memories doesn't it?" Arthur mused "Australia was always breaking his kaleidoscopes. Perhaps, I should get him one of these for old times sake. What say you?"

He handed it to Alfred to look through.

Probably to distract him from the much more expensive toy that he wanted.

Patterns of color swirled as he looked through the lens.

"Pretty."

"I imagine you enjoyed them once they made it across the pond. Popular in New York, weren't they?"

"Oh…yeah, but...no I...well...I do have one...but I got it later-late 1860s. A present from Tex when I was…"

Arthur looked at him expectantly.

"Well I…"

"Alfred?"

"I...was...recovering from the...and he brought me lots of stuff. Chess. Checkers. Lots of cards."

"From the Civil War" Arthur correctly deduced.

Damn his old man's sleuthing skills.

"Yeah. Neither of us were in real great shape. So we just stayed in bed and played games all day. Sometimes we'd place bets with crackers."

Arthur sighed inspecting various gaudy holiday knickknacks-no doubt intended to snag tourists' attention by being in a more affordable budget range.

It was good to know that even the U.K. wasn't immune to tacky snowman family snow globes when Yuletide came around.

Arthur surprised him by picking one up that had two Snowmen-the big one had a top hat and the little one had blue earmuffs.

"I should've visited" the Briton murmured seriously, his mouth downturned "during that trying time. It would've done you worlds of good to have someone with you who'd already endured numerous skirmishes. Damned political tug-of-wars..."

Alfred blinked-surprised that their conversation was taking such a solemn turn-he wanted to go back to that frivolity they had fifteen minutes ago.

He grinned, "S'okay. Life goes on. You had plenty of stuff goin' with your empire. Wasn't there something with New Zealand?"

Arthur frowned and nodded, "Still...It must've been difficult. Dealing with the _**pain**_ all alone…should've sent for m-"

"Actually, I didn't really have any pain-"

Arthur stared at him-confounded "...no? Well...it-it-it must've been upsetting..."

Alfred shrugged a shoulder, "I guess...at the beginning and after."

Arthur took a deep breath and stared heavily into the glass decoration-like it was a crystal ball and could give him some sort of answer, "I should've come. Even if I wasn't sent for. I should've come. Alfred. I'm so-"

"Nah," Alfred waved a hand dismissively as he felt his face heat up. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Yeah, you made a bad investment call for a little while-but your politics later made up for it."

"Alfred...that's not what I mean. Not as a nation...but as your father...I should've-"

"Geez...gettin' mushy on me...look...that was a long time ago and I appreciate the sentiment but honestly, it would've been a waste of your time-"

"Alfred!?"

"You'd have just been bored outta your mind. I was like, in a coma, for almost all of it."

The snow globe shattered on the floor.

* * *

Canada shifted uneasily as he waited for the door to open; he was early by about an hour. He ought to have had the taxi drop him off somewhere he could idle some time away or opted to take a scenic route or something.

And yet…

He was eager to get there-to straighten things out, make concerns known.

Francis had been adamant in their phone conversations about Mathieu vocalizing his discontent:

" _Mon petit chou, it is not selfishness to ask for your needs to be met. It is self-assertion. Please. It hurts Papa to have you unhappy. They cannot fix it, if they do not know..."_

He wanted...no...needed better acknowledgment from them.

Lately, he just felt so...isolated…

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Not long after he heard:

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad. Somebody's at the doooooooooooooooooooooooor."

The bolt unlocked and the door swung open.

"Hi Mattie!" Alfred greeted-giving his older brother's legs a hug.

Frantic footfalls were soon heard on the staircase.

"Alfred! What have I said about opening the door without-"

His face was half shaved and his shirt unbuttoned.

Mathieu felt embarrassed for him-he should've had the taxi driver go around the neighborhood at least once-he could've spared Arthur this.

"But it's Mattie and we were expecting him-" Alfred reasoned as he pulled Mathieu's luggage across the threshold and then closed and locked the door...in Mathieu's face.

"Alfred?!" Mathieu heard his former colonizer shout.

"Huh? OH! Whoops!"

The door opened and a red faced Alfred spluttered, "Dammit Mattie, you'd never survive in an Indiana Jones movie. You gotta move _**before**_ the door closes and-Come on already!"

Little fingers grabbed his and tugged him into the house.

"You're hella early" the childish voice commented.

It was still strange-hearing those high tones, seeing that small body...

"Language!" Arthur squawked.

"H-E-double hockey sticks-a-early"

"S-sorry" Mathieu removed coat-faltering a bit when the peg he usually used was already taken by a child-sized coat. "Plane arrived early and traffic wasn't too thick."

"You usually call though" Alfred commented, head cocked to the side questioningly. "Is your phone dead? You can use my charger if you want."

"Don't mind him, lad-just give me a moment to make myself presentable."

Mathieu noticed the spots of smooth shaven skin redden with embarrassment-even as Mathieu endeavored not to look directly at him. Arthur vanished back up the stairs.

As Canada settled himself in the guestroom, America flopped dramatically on top of his bed-wrinkling the coverlet.

Canada bit his lip as Alfred messed up the pillow arrangement to hug one to his chest.

It was a nice, crisp, clean room-decorated in cream and maple brown-bronze fixtures here and there added a simple touch of elegance.

The headboard of the bed had built-in reading lights and the bedside table held a single white orchid in a small cinnamon colored square vase.

Alfred's nose wrinkled at the sight of it, "Fake flora bites."

Mathieu rolled his eyes.

The room seemed to lose its sense of sophistication the longer Alfred stayed in it.

A shame because staying with England was usually a treat.

The older man's house was always well ordered and secure feeling. Not to mention the man himself was a well of information-which made good conversation easy to come by.

Over tea they'd discuss various books or films or news articles.

As he watched Alfred toss a pillow in the air and catch it like a toy-Mathieu somehow doubted he'd get to do anything calm and peaceful that day.

A shame, because he could feel jet lag sapping his energy and Alfred could be exhausting even when Mathieu was well-rested.

Still, it was a great relief to see Alfred's eyes bright and blue and alert.

He'd never forget how dull and listless they'd seemed in Osha's cabin. How gutting it felt-staring into them.

He shivered.

"Yeah" Alfred stated "I know they keep saying its "mild" weather right now. But I still think it's kinda cold too. Good luck getting the old man to turn the heater on though."

"It's nice of him-letting us stay here. Good hotels are hard to come by during this time of the year. Very expensive."

"Yeah…" Alfred shrugged.

Gratitude was never really one of Alfred's stronger suits.

Mathieu was grateful though. Grateful that he didn't have to bother with booking a hotel for an exorbitant amount tonight. Grateful that he could spend the day adjusting to the time difference before the meeting tomorrow. Grateful that England had insisted it would be easier if he just stayed overnight. Then the three of them could catch an early flight to Paris in the morning-Arthur would drive.

Since the meeting would be in the early evening, they could use the time before to visit boutiques. Mathieu would still like to pick up several small gifts before the holiday at the country estate began.

Arthur himself had mentioned that he'd wanted to talk to Mathieu a few days ago-that he hadn't the pleasure of speaking with him much at Thanksgiving and that he wanted to make sure Mathieu was alright. Which was good...because Mathieu had several things he needed to discuss with him...and then maybe he could look at Alfred without feeling a twinge of resentment…

Because it wasn't that he wanted Arthur to ignore his brother.

Just wanted…

Just...

"Hey Mattie...I need to enlist your assistance!"

"Oh?" He responded as he hung up his business suit for tomorrow's meeting in the wardrobe.

"For a couple things."

Maple. He could already sense trouble.

"One! I need help getting Francis a decent Secret Santa gift."

He nodded. That was...reasonable; he could definitely assist with that-for his Papa's sake if nothing else.

"And Two! I need you to help me defuse the situation."

"What?" He nearly dropped his toiletries "What happened? What'd you say, eh?"

He hadn't already outstayed his welcome here, had he? Had he insulted England's cooking?

"Soooo I was in a coma during the Civil War. And...England didn't know that and he's kinda bent outta shape about it. I mean...I figured he knew I was out for some of it-I, like, didn't show up for anything during those years. Which sucks cuz I missed out on some awesome World Fairs. Abe said you visited...I guess I figured you'd have told him about it. But I guess you didn't...cuz he totally freaked out yesterday. We're...probably not gonna be able to go back into that store. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is-we need a North American United Plan. If he asks you about the war-just say you dunno. And I'll say I dunno if anyone knows. And I'll imply Texas didn't know either. Cuz nobody can get angry over what nobody knows. And then he can just, ya know, let it go and we can-"

" _ **Or**_ we could simply address the matter now" a prim voice responded coolly from the doorway.

Arthur was leaning against the door frame; dressed, shaved, arms crossed, and green eyes stormy.

"And Three! You can remind me in the future to close the door before I open my big fat trap to talk about sensitive information."

* * *

Arthur walked purposely over to the bed-sitting down beside Alfred-and conveniently between both boys.

"I don't like subterfuge" he began "Especially under my own roof. I'm disappointed that the two of you would even think to collaborate against me in something like this. I thought we'd made more progress than that? I thought, in lieu of recent events, we'd endeavor to be more open with one another?"

Both boys avoided his gaze.

"Alfred. Talk to me about your Civil War."

"Well, what am I supposed to say? Fine. I slept through the Civil War! Yeah, my fellow Americans will really support that."

"Does that make you feel guilty?" He rested a hand over Alfred's-the smaller set of fingers trembled.

"Oh noes" Alfred sneered "I missed being forced into taking a side. Yeah, I really regret not having a front row seat to Americans killing each other again."

Abruptly, he saw a flash of the Revolution: Patriots and Royalists fighting.

Interesting, how their bond could connect them...

"Alfred-"

"Look, I'm fine" Alfred growled through gritted teeth. "So you can just drop it."

Anger and hurt and fear rattled through their connection…

And Arthur couldn't help but think of Red-desperately trying to get himself loose to hide himself away from further harm...

"Tex and I have made our peace with it. It happened. The end. We don't need to-"

"You lost several years of your life and you're alright with that?" Arthur asked point blank.

"Ha! Of course."

"No regrets at all?" Arthur demanded. Sadly, Alfred was still so confrontational with him despite all his earlier (gentler) attempts over the past month and a half to get the boy to open up. Alfred didn't yet feel safe enough to simply confide when he felt hurt; his first strategy was omission, then distraction, then dismissal, then denial followed by anger and disdain...in short, to the child, any response that hinted vulnerability was to be avoided. Fine, his emotions needed some prodding.

So be it.

"None. I only wish I could've Rip Van Winkle-d my way out of a few others."

"Really? And here I thought the "hero" prided himself on facing troubles head on."

Alfred stared at him-stunned.

"I didn't...run away-if that's what you mean...I couldn't choose a side...and I just...shut...down."

Whether it was luck or cleverness-he had to applaud Alfred. Once again he had been able to take a third option.

His neutrality and Texas's reign in the Confederacy, likely kept him from having a painful split. So much blood had been spilt...but Alfred hadn't been a part of it.

"I...wasn't trying...to abandon them…"

Still, that wasn't to say that the war caused him "no pain" as he tried to insist the other day. It was just pain of a different kind-lurking under the skin-deep down where it was hard to treat and heal.

England reached over and gently thumbed away a tear.

The boy twitched-hands drawing up to his face in shock. As if he couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was crying. He immediately began roughly scrubbing at his eyes.

"Easy" Arthur caught the hands "Going to give yourself a black eye or worse."

"...dust...allergies…should go…" Alfred mumbled-trying to pull away.

England would have none of it-tugging him closer, "If it's all 'water under the bridge' I wonder why you're so hesitant to talk about it with me. You were comatose during that war. You didn't choose to be. It overwhelmed you. So where is this guilt coming from? How can you be held responsible for anything? You weren't there. You weren't in the fields. You weren't firing a cannon. You missed everything. You missed every single battle."

Alfred flinched.

"So why the hell are you so defensive. What have you to-"

"That's just it! I didn't _**do**_ anything!" America exploded "Maybe if I had...Do...do...do you...do you think I could've stopped it? Do you think if maybe I had been awake, I could've reconciled the whole damn thing? That it's my fault for sleeping on the job? And that it dragged on for several years because of me?"

"No" Arthur answered succinctly causing Alfred's jaw to drop. He gave Alfred a moment to digest that before elaborating, "Absolutely not. Now you're just being ridiculous. Goodness. Vainglory at its height. Next you're going to take full credit for _**our**_ troubles and conveniently forget those bothersome "Patriots" had a hand in it at all-"

Alfred looked up at him sharply-eyes wide.

But Arthur steeled himself and forged on, "You alone dumped tea in our harbor. You alone participated in the riots. You alone wanted to rebel."

"...N-no."

Arthur nodded approvingly, "No; There were men and women and yes, even children, involved in that conflict. All sides of that conflict: The Patriots, the Royalists, and the undecided as well. And your heart was with all of your Americans? Right?"

There was a shaky nod.

Of course it was-he hadn't split then either. And Arthur had been so afraid of that happening...and then encouraged when it didn't. By not splitting, Alfred proved that part of him was still loyal to the British Empire, to England, to Arthur. If he had been able to suppress the rebellion, he'd have had his boy back and he could've nurtured that loyalty...

"Could you reconcile them then?"

Alfred stared.

"You loved them all, didn't you? Wanted the best for them all? All thirteen of your colonies and the people within them? Didn't you?"

Alfred nodded-eyes swimming.

"Could understand the roots of their differing perspectives? Right? Could you reconcile them?"

Alfred went very still.

"Could you?"

Alfred shook his head.

"No. No, you couldn't. So why would it be different in the 1860s, hmm? Well?"

"I...I just…"

"Had human nature changed so much in one century? Not even one century? Were they really any different? Are they ever?"

"Just wish...wanna save..."

And there...was a remnant of White...still intact even after so many hardships.

"I know."

The child's face crumpled.

"I know" He pulled the child into a fierce embrace.

"Just look at us, pet. You and I...we…" he took a painful breath "we... ultimately, we both wanted peace, didn't we? Amazing, isn't it? We both wanted the troubles between us to end and went about it entirely different. Funny how free will works out, isn't it?"

Alfred stared at him and Arthur tucked a golden strand of hair behind the child's ear.

"1770s or 1860s or any era really, wills shall clash. You cannot control everything. You can't. Life doesn't work that way Sweetheart."

Alfred made several squeaking sounds as he sniffled.

"And that's alright. That's alright."

"...feel...failed them...all..."

"No" He rubbed the child's back soothingly as he hiccupped into his shoulder. "No. You didn't fail them. Not at all. Not one bit. So blot that thought out, alright? Not your job to be in control of everything. You're a person. You're not omniscient or omnipotent. You're a person. A good person. What happened wasn't your fault. You're a good boy."

Two small arms wound around his neck and the little body leaned forward-finally seeking comfort.

"Alright?"

"..."

"Alright?" he repeated.

There was a nod and a gasp for air.

Arthur felt relief surge through him as Alfred rested fully against him-accepting his support.

"That's my good boy" he breathed "You let that weight go. That isn't yours to shoulder."

There was another nod and a deeper, steadier breath.

"Such a good boy," he assured.

"When I woke up...I tried to-to mediate as-as best I could-hard-cuz-everyone...so angry-and I was so weak...but I tried…"

"Of course you did. You're my good, sweet Alfred."

"Still not perfect…still...long way to go...before...fixed...but..."

Arthur gave him a gentle squeeze, "Things don't unravel all at once, and they don't mend all at once."

Alfred nodded and drew back. He wiped gently at his eyes.

"Not...all my fault."

"No."

He took another deep gulp of breath.

"Not all my fault."

"No."

"N-n-neither time."

"No."

The boy exhaled.

Arthur swallowed his sigh. He meant what he'd said. Life existed and unfolded in a way no one could dictate or rewrite-no matter how much they wanted to.

You couldn't flourish your quill and undo someone's hardships.

Arthur wouldn't deny that he'd had moments where he wished he could do exactly that-like a Disney movie-spare a mermaid from a fate of foam and emptiness.

But you couldn't.

You existed in the here and now and you couldn't go back.

You had "Now." That was all...and you just had to do the best that you could with that.

Alfred gave him a fragile smile and looked him in the eye.

It was a brave smile. What else could be expected from his little lion hearted boy? Who held himself to absurd standards? His cruelest opponent would always be his reflection.

Arthur smiled back, "There's my hero-facing his troubles-slaying his demons. That was a tough battle, but I knew you'd be victorious."

Alfred snorted as his cheeks reddened and then groaned, "Yeah...thanks a bunch...messy...I'm...I'm all snotty now."

"Now? Strange, I seem to recall you always being a bit of a snot-"

Alfred raised an eyebrow "Hardy har har-funny."

Arthur chuckled and fished out a handkerchief-carefully dabbing at his child's face-which...admittedly...was a mess of tears and mucus.

"See? That wasn't so difficult, right?" he murmured as he worked "I told you. You can talk to me about anything. I mean that...with all my heart."

Blue eyes looked directly in his...and for the first time in a long while he saw a glimmer of real trust there.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Disneyland and it's Lincoln exhibit. Or Hamilton (the musical). Or Secret Garden. Or Harry Potter. Or Doc Martin.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Siblings...the Love-Hate is complicated. Jealousy and envy can make even kind, understanding people turn...especially when they've got plenty of valid emotional baggage to begin with. WWI bombing teams were not a lot of fun and the (sometimes faulty) explosives involved...yeah...dangerous doesn't really begin to describe it. Arthur in the past was pretty darn strict. Arthur in the present is pretty mushy. Until the late 19th Century or so, hospitals were NOT places you wanted to be sent to. (Thank you Florence Nightingale for stressing cleanliness.) More continuity between this fic and Wendigo. Americat is adorable but demanding...but adorable. Texas being Texas.

 **Note:** Happy Singles Awareness Day! : D Thank you for your reviews! Lol. To the reviewers who were posting 'America Nation of Choice 2016.' I love it. I can almost hear the chanting (USAUSAUSA). Hope you all enjoy the chap! XD And now I'm finally off to bed!

 **Chapter 15: The Hockey Stick Up Your Butt**

* * *

Canada tried to keep his knee from bouncing anxiously.

It reminded him of when he'd been added to a bombing team in WWI and he had to pitch grenades into trenches and dugouts.

So loud...it was always so loud when a grenade went off.

He'd only gone on four runs before Scotland and Wales had him transferred.

Still...

That...detonation of emotion from Alfred was so…

Maple. His ears were ringing.

Loud.

Of course it was loud.

Alfred was loud.

That wasn't unusual…

Just…

It was raw.

It was unlike anything he'd seen from Alfred before-making it hard to witness or react to.

He'd mentally sifted through other memories of emotional intensity, but all he could come up with were childish fits of jealousy (over Arthur's time and because he wanted them to play a different game even though it was Mathieu's turn to choose) or frustration (over difficult geography lessons because Arthur didn't compromise when it came to questions about latitude and longitude-you were either right or off) or rage (over England's dominion over him and his people and his desire to be independent).

This...was different.

This was...guilt blended with...shame and...helplessness?

Mathieu blinked-feeling a little frustrated with himself. There'd been quite a few times in his more vindictive moods where Mathieu had written off his brother as too oblivious or self-centered to feel guilt…

He _**was**_ self-centered…but it actually led him to feel _**more**_ guilt…

That was interesting, and complicating, and frustrating because Mathieu had no idea of how to deal with it, or correct it or...anything...

England knew though; he'd sprung right into action and had forced those emotions to fully surface.

It reminded him of times they'd gone hunting-England knew how to flush their quarry out of the brush and into the open.

Canada risked looking over at him.

Alfred had left a few minutes ago to "shower the sadness away" leaving Canada and England alone in the guest room.

The older man broke gentlemanly protocol and laid down on the bed.

He rested the heels of his palms against his eyes and muttered, "Goodness, what a way to begin the morning…"

Mathieu nodded; he hadn't even participated in it and he was exhausted...and a bit frustrated. How was he supposed to bring up his own concerns about how Arthur treated him now?

He didn't want to simply lump more problems onto Arthur when he clearly had his hands full with Alfred. But Papa was right...he couldn't afford to linger in the background anymore...

If only he could've gone first!

But as usual Alfred...beat him to the punch and… 'wanting attention from their former colonizer to offset feelings of envy' seemed awfully petty when it was lined up beside 'soul-crushing internal guilt over bloodshed during the Civil War and the Revolutionary War.'

Still...

How long was he supposed to wait now? A few hours? A day? A week? He'd wanted to have the conversation face to face rather than over the phone. He'd hoped to have the matter discussed before their trip into the country.

Arthur released a long sigh.

Should he go? Give Arthur a moment to collect his thoughts?

He made to get up.

"Not so fast young man."

Canada automatically sat back down, while mentally cursing years of conditioning.

Arthur sat back up straightening himself and crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands on his lap.

Canada recognized that imperious look of kingly judgment from his childhood. It usually meant he was going to be implicated as Alfred's accomplice in whatever wrongdoing his brother had committed...because _**he**_ was the smart one and was supposed to counsel his brother out of dumb decisions.

"Why didn't you tell me he'd fallen into a coma?" Arthur asked.

"Same reason you didn't tell me Alfred survived the operation."

It was a low blow and Arthur's lips thinned. But a tiny vengeful part of Mathieu was glad he'd gotten to return that finally.

Thinking his brother had died, never to return, had been devastating and Arthur still hadn't really apologized for his deceit.

Unfortunately, when Arthur turned away to stare out the window and sighed heavily, the feeling of victory faded.

"I thought I was doing what was best for Alfred…" Mathieu admitted "You were an empire...and everything about him...whenever anyone mentioned him...you always got…" Irritated? Enraged? Distraught? Depressed? "...frustrated…"

"I should've been made aware."

Mathieu huffed in exasperation. Arthur clearly had a selective memory and didn't recall all the reactions he'd given whenever Alfred had accidentally cropped up in conversation.

The first few decades following 1776 (and exacerbated by 1812) were by far the worst. It got to the point where most of his wards carefully avoided mentioning Alfred for fear of sending their caretaker into a venomous mood for the rest of the day. It always peaked whenever America refused (or perhaps was unable) to meet with England for business negotiations.

"Was he well taken care of? They didn't just ship him off to some hospital, did they?"

Mathieu winced-it was a sad fact of history that until sanitation improved...hospitals only stopped being places where people went to die (rather than heal) by the late 1800s.

And given the way Alfred's government had been treating him recently, the possibility of Alfred being sent away to suffer out of sight rather than being cared for was a real fear for Arthur.

"No...they kept him in a room in the White House."

"But was it clean? There was a bed, right? The sheets were sanitary? The air was fresh?"

"Y-yes…"

"Was it clean?" Arthur persisted-hands digging into the coverlet.

Mathieu strained to remember.

Clean enough. But there had probably been a layer of dust on the windowsill and maybe Alfred's hair could've been washed a bit more often.

At least the first time he'd visited.

The second and third time, he was much better cared for. Room even had flowers.

Whether that was because they learned to expect Canada dropping in, or because they acquired a new nurse with more enthusiasm for her charge-He didn't know.

"What would you have done...if I had told you?"

"What do you mean? I would've had him transported somewhere safe-distance can help. Remember, I moved you twice during your Rebellions in 1837 and 1838. It was still painful for you of course. But Jet, was rather diverting, wasn't he? Distance...distance can help. White House was essentially on the dividing line between the North and the South-that did him no good...no good at all. Likely why he didn't wake up...as he put it in his own words he "shut down," and just had to wait it out until they were unified somewhat."

"So you would've moved him north with me" Mathieu muttered. Typical. Arthur had a penchant for ordering him about and assigning him tasks. "And I would've played nurse attendant and hoped for the best while you were busy with New Zealand."

Arthur frowned heavily.

"No" he replied primly "It's a moot point of course, this fanciful speculation, but I'd have brought him home with me."

Home…

Mathieu took a ragged breath.

"My people were making advances in the medical field. He would've been safe and well cared for there...I would've seen to it. He'd have been in no danger...with me. I guarantee it. So...the next time he tries to…to hide something...like he was aiming to this morning... _ **please**_...try to dissuade him."

The door slowly slid open causing both men to freeze.

America did take fast showers...except…that would've been a record even for him!

Canada blinked as a great big Maine Coon cat strolled into the room like he owned it.

"You-you-you let...Americat come?!"

He felt indignation fill him; Arthur rarely let him bring Kumaki over.

"Indeed. And no good deed goes unpunished; the furry glutton is eating me out of house and home."

Sensing he was the subject of the conversation, Americat meowed and twitched his tail. He leapt up onto the bed.

"Oh no you don't, I won't have you wallowing on this bedspread too! Bad enough you shed so much I've had to leave the portable vacuum charging in Alfred's room-you're not getting this room too, understand?" He gathered the large cat up in his arms and stood.

Which apparently was the animal's real plan because he began purring loudly.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

He paused in the doorway, "Something I've been meaning to ask...Alfred mentioned you'd been eliminating wendigo?"

"Yes" he nodded "I've been working with several First Nations personifications and we've eliminated a majority of them. They'll notify me if the threat level increases again."

"Good. Very good. No problems?"

"We've implemented a fairly effective system. We've created collaborative teams, whose members were drawn from both my government and Al's, along with personifications-including ones native to the area or particularly specialized in exterminating wendigo..."

Arthur listened intently as he explained some of his duties and how using their combined knowledge of the geographical landscape, they had worked out how to "corral" (so to speak) the wendigo into designated kill zones that were underpopulated and thus less likely to attract media attention or civilian casualties.

"We've also worked relentlessly to find out which sounds draw them the most swiftly and which bullets are most effective. We've also created a panel of scientists to analyze the time and weather during each mission. Anything that can help us predict when and how they'll strike."

Arthur nodded approvingly, "Excellent. Well done Mathieu. You've always had a good mind for strategy and organization. They couldn't have found a better coordinator."

A glow of accomplishment filled him at that.

"Tiring though" Mathieu confessed-running a hand through his hair.

"I can imagine. A trip to Kirkland Manor will serve you well."

Mathieu nodded heavily. He'd been looking forward to having some time away, "It'll be good for everyone."

Arthur nodded eagerly, "Yes, I…I think the fresh air and warm company will do Alfred good. He's...had...so much time to himself...not just over this year but...the years since...it'll do him good to be included."

Mathieu nodded-mood sinking-Alfred was just going to be Arthur's go to topic of conversation for a while.

Still...

"It'll be nice to spend some time with Al under calmer circumstances."

Too often he only saw Al during battle or business. Yes, he was often frustrated with his brother, but he genuinely wanted their relationship to be better. It was hard hearing how close Alfred was with Tex-despite knowing him for a fewer number of years.

Arthur blinked, head tilting as he eyed Mathieu, "Speaking of which...I still have a few matters to attend to before we head off for our holiday... Now, you said you were planning on spending the week before with Francis. Are you still intending to do so, or can I entice you to stay a few days here instead?"

Mathieu blinked.

Arthur interpreted it as interest: "I have two all-day meetings with Parliament next week: Monday and Tuesday. Which would give you and your brother plenty of time to visit-just the two of you. You wouldn't even have to go out if you didn't want to. You know Alfred, he doesn't need grand outings to be entertained. And if he's a bit tiresome and you need some private time, you're welcome to my personal library. I just bought several new mysteries-right hand side, if you're interested. And he's brought his video games...just make him use his earphones-the explosions scare Camelot...but not too loud-I don't want him rupturing his eardrums. Now I actively try to limit the amount of soda and sweets he eats-and I don't let him have coffee. At all. I think you'll be pleased to find he's quite manageable when he isn't bouncing off the walls from a sugar overdose. And he's quite pleased you're here now, so I don't think he'd give you too much trouble; I daresay Alfred's missed you. Every time we head to the grocer's, he insists on me buying maple syrup for when you visit. We have three bottles in the pantry now" he chuckled.

Canada felt the remnants of his good mood plummet even further.

"You want me to babysit" he replied flatly.

"HUSH!" Arthur hissed; eyes darting around nervously. "You mustn't _**ever**_ phrase it that way."

Tch.

He blinked and shook his head, _Damn you, Texas…_

Clearly, 'Tch' was contagious and his vocabulary had been infected.

"No. Papa and I have plans."

"I see, I see. No matter" Arthur responded "Thought I'd ask. Now, I have a report to drop off and one interview to sit in on. Shouldn't be more than three hours. You're welcome to rest here or you can come along. Perhaps the three of us-"

"If I rest here...will Alfred…?" want to stay and pester me?

Arthur paused-eyes widening a bit and Mathieu instinctively knew he'd answered "wrong" as Arthur's expression and good humor flattened, "No; I can take him with me."

Though he did feel a bit guilty, Mathieu breathed a sigh of relief-he just needed time to wind down. Between work, wendigo exterminations, a long flight, and...Alfred.

He was drained; physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Thank you."

* * *

After the interview, Arthur decided he and Alfred deserved a treat. One for Arthur, because he'd been forced to politely engage with a string of woefully under skilled job hopefuls (really only the woman from Hertfordshire seemed competent), and one for Alfred who was being a very good sport.

This morning when Arthur mentioned that Mathieu was awfully tired and wouldn't be joining them-the boy immediately became worried that Mattie was coming down with a cold and volunteered to take care of him.

When Arthur calmly and thoroughly explained that what Mathieu needed was sleep and a quiet house to do that in, Alfred didn't put up a fuss.

Alfred made use of his time in Arthur's office by thoroughly exploring his new coloring book (the Marvel one had been tossed aside in favor of Arthur's...which delighted the Briton to no end).

It was uplifting-watching Alfred's interest in magic increase.

Though Arthur did have to contend with several Post-It Notes with sloppy shield knots doodled on them were now stuck around the door frame.

To protect Alfred from the "ghosts."

When Arthur asked why they were stationed as they were, the child hesitated, "Because. Because….doorways are always...active...but they get more active at certain times."

Arthur, impressed with the answer, had ruffled his hair and acknowledged that the clock was just a little past 12. Sunrise, midday, sundown, midnight, and the witching hour were all special times.

His instincts were so good! It made Arthur wonder if the child was embracing his past as Roanoke and finally making use of that long hidden knowledge.

Or perhaps he was beginning to remember their time together before 1812. It still bothered Arthur greatly, that so many magic-related memories were missing for Alfred.

He was still hopeful they could be recovered.

That aside, he was quite pleased with the progress Alfred was making.

He was coming into his own-fully embracing the nature of his magic-to the point where he was becoming less self conscious when it came to babying the plant on Arthur's desk; going so far as to whisper a "goodbye" to it and that it needed to "grow big and strong while he was gone" even with Arthur standing near.

Arthur couldn't argue with results: four new leaves had unfurled since Alfred's last visit and the canes of the plant seemed...hardier than before...

Though what Arthur couldn't help noticing was that ever since Alfred's attentions to his plant began...the thorns seemed a bit more...wicked?

Or perhaps that was just his father's eye worrying over Alfred's safety.

Many "mundane" things seemed exorbitantly more dangerous to him now: like stairs (ever since Alfred's tumble in November), or crossing the street (since Alfred didn't always watch as close as he ought), and even too large of bites (which occurred when Alfred tried to inhale his favorite foods).

Yes, Arthur kept a weather eye on his child as they sat down on an empty bench.

They tapped their freshly baked chocolate chip biscuits with a brief "cheers." and each checked his phone for updates and emails.

As they finished up their treats, Arthur reflected that he couldn't quite shake his disappointment that Mathieu (despite his claims that he wanted bonding time with Alfred) didn't want to take advantage of the moment under his nose.

Yes, he had plans for next week-Arthur respected that...but today...he could've used today.

Yes, Alfred's age did...change things but…

He was still their Alfred and…

Arthur sighed; it was giving him unpleasant flashbacks of his own childhood: Gwalia leaving the roundhouse to go hunting or fighting or to change the thatch on an elderly villager's hut. Eire leaving him behind because he got amusement out of hearing Albion cry for him to wait. Alistair ordering him about or chastising him for doing things "wrong."

All of them acting like he was a nuisance...

Arthur pulled the child onto his lap. Alfred blinked at him curiously-though he didn't struggle, instead-

"Geez. Now, _**you're**_ the one who's all upset" he murmured poking the adult on the cheek. "Don't be sad. It's a good day. The sun's out for a while. We had cookies. The bench we're sitting on isn't wet. You're off from work now. Your plant's doing better. You're not wearing shoelaces so you don't have to worry about tying them. There's flowers blooming across the street, over there...see it? That Chinese restaurant smells good. The gum I stepped on while walking over here was too old to be sticky, so I'm not gonna track it into your house and we...we're...we have…"

 _Each other…_

It wasn't said, but Arthur could read it in the boy's blush.

"It's a good day" Alfred stubbornly insisted.

It _**was**_ a good day. If only because Alfred could say that-could say it despite having a very rough morning.

He gave the boy a hug.

"It's a good day" the child repeated "...don't be sad."

"You're right" Arthur conceded "A fine day indeed."

* * *

Arthur would readily admit that there was something wonderfully nostalgic about balancing Alfred on his hip as he fished his keys out of his pocket.

The child's head was nestled comfortably against his neck and shoulder-little arms looped around him.

He opened the door, "We're home."

Mathieu came out into the hallway, stirring a bowl, "Hello there, I thought I'd cook tonight and since it takes a few hours to prepare I..."

Arthur set Alfred down on his feet and the two removed their shoes and coats.

"Have a good rest?"

"Yes."

"Good" Arthur smiled, following the lad back to the kitchen.

Alfred skipped along behind them.

"You missed out Mattie!" he teased dancing from foot to foot, " _ **We**_ went out to eat for lunch!

Arthur frowned, "Alfred."

"And we got cookies!"

" _Alfred._ "

"And we didn't miss you at all."

"Alfred?!"

"Psyche! We got you a cookie too!" Alfred exclaimed-he rushed over to Arthur-tugging at his trouser leg, "Quick! Dad, give 'im the cookie! I picked it out special! I had to ask a ton of questions to find out which ones had maple in them."

"Yes, I think everyone celebrated when we left" Arthur muttered as he pulled the bag containing the treat from his briefcase and set it on the counter.

"Yeah prob'ly" Alfred shrugged "I always have to do all the question asking when Hawaii and I go out to eat. I don't mind being the inquisitive jerk that asks the waiter for all the menu items' ingredients."

"Merci" Mathieu replied tersely.

"And I made sure they got you a fresh one. And not one of the display ones that's been sitting out all day."

"...thank you…Alfred."

Unease dripped down into Arthur's stomach as he saw Mathieu's closed expression.

"Time for a cuppa, I think."

"Oh!" Mathieu started "Oh, y-yes, I can make us some tea."

"You needn't trouble yours-"

"I'll do it."

There was a hard edge to the lad's voice.

A quick glance around and Arthur noticed the bottle of Paracetamol was out. Perhaps, he was a bit under the weather?

He gestured at it, "Alright?"

Mathieu nodded as he filled the kettle with water.

No…

Something was off…

Arthur addressed his child, "Alfred, would you turn some classical music on? Not too loud please."

"The hero is on it!" The boy scurried into the next room to find a music station on the telly.

Mathieu sighed heavily.

"Lad-"

"No really-"

"If you're feeling ill, you'd best take a kip" Arthur replied, bending to pet Camelot as the Scottish Fold brushed against his legs.

"..."

"Mathieu…"

"..."

Arthur straightened and took a step closer, "Mathieu-"

"I'm not a helpless child!" Mathieu snapped.

And hadn't Arthur heard that dreaded phrase before?

' _I'm not a child...or your little brother…'_

"I know that" Arthur replied steadily.

They both sighed and looked away to see Alfred standing nearby with a wounded expression.

He felt his heart clench at the stare Alfred gave his brother.

Bugger.

"Al" Mathieu immediately tried to backpedal the conversation "I don't mean...that's not-"

"Nope" Alfred returned brightly-tragic expression swapped out for a cheery smile,"You're right. You're not a child. I agree; you're just a jerkface and I hope you choke on your cookie...not to...die but...ya know-enough to be very uncomfortable-"

"Alfred" Arthur snagged the child's arm-not allowing him to storm out of the room.

"Stop it, let go!"

"It's a misunderstanding" Arthur stated "And we're going to correct this now."

"Fine! What's your problem?" Alfred barked at his brother.

"What's _**my**_ problem?" Mathieu grumbled "...I'll give you three guesses...knowing you, you'll need them."

"Boys!"

"I mean if we...if _**I**_ suck so much, and you don't wanna greet me at the door, or come with me to lunch-why are you here? You knew 'helpless me' would be here before you took the cab over!"

"Alfred!"

"Maybe I didn't fully realize that you were going to make every single second of the day an episode of the personal soap opera you call life."

"Mathieu!?" What happened that morning was a breakthrough! A godsend! Essential to his healing!

"Better ratings than your boring-ass-documentary-style life!"

"You always make everything a competition and I'm-"

Yes, Alfred did have a tendency to do that but he was a child! They did obnoxious things. Some concessions had to be made for their immaturity.

"Boys."

"Well, you-"

"That's enough!" Arthur order "Mathieu. You first. Apologize. At once...please."

The teenager gave him an incredulous look. Arthur frowned back-it was one of those rare moments when Mathieu _**was**_ the instigator.

"Unbelievable. He's taking it out of context and interpreting it personall-"

"Mathieu" Arthur interrupted "I don't care how you meant it. What matters right now is that your comment hurt your brother's feelings. Apologize."

"I'm not a baby!" Alfred growled "my feelings are FINE. I just don't wanna deal with jackassery right-"

"Alfred, watch your mouth in my house or you're getting soap."

"Do you hear him? Did you hear him when he came in? What he said to me? _'O we didn't even miss-we didn't even care.._.'"

"He's seven Mathieu, but fine. Fine. If you want a seven year old to be the bigger person in this instance-Alfred! Your brother would like an apology for your rude comment."

"...but I was just teasing...we wanted you to come...you said 'No.' You wanted 'rest' and-"

"Alf-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't...it was mean. I made sure we got you a cookie, so you wouldn't feel left out..."

Arthur nodded approvingly. At least it was easy to get the "hero" to apologize. Now, could he get his "tactician" to do the same?

Mathieu frowned, twisted an oven mitt between his hands, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "can you stop mentioning the stupid cookie? Not a Holy Grail..."

The kettle began to whistle.

Mathieu turned to remove it off the burner.

"Mathieu that can wait."

"I've got it."

"Math-"

It happened in an instant.

Mathieu picked up the kettle, he moved to pour it into the teapot to warm it...and in his haste tripped over Camelot-who hissed and swiped.

As Mathieu tried to avoid stepping on the cat, the kettle swung.

Time slowed down.

Pure parental instinct surged and his hands shot forward.

He grit his teeth as the hot metal connected with his left hand and a trickle of scalding liquid dripped on him.

Despite the pain-there was relief.

He'd successfully disrupted the kettle's path-and delayed it long enough for his right hand to grab the back of Alfred's shirt and pull him out of the way.

The child tripped as he was pulled backward and ended up on the floor-sitting on Arthur's feet-his shirt stretched irreparably...but his skin blissfully unharmed.

Mathieu immediately pulled the kettle away, apologies streaming almost as swiftly as the faucet he immediately turned on and ushered Arthur over to.

Goodness. A soap opera day indeed.

Not long after, Arthur found himself seated at the table with his hand in a basin filled with cool water.

He watched Mathieu rummage through the First Aid Kit for appropriate bandages since he was blistering a bit.

Arthur had sent a protesting Alfred upstairs to "calm down" Camelot who'd fled the scene in a panic.

To calm them all down really.

Camelot DID need to be soothed.

But it was Alfred's temper that needed to cool.

For Mathieu's sake.

Poor lamb needed a moment to recover...and the accusatory looks Alfred had kept giving him...hadn't helped at all.

As Mathieu's hands shook while applying the ointment and gauze, Arthur reluctantly concluded that Alfred probably _was_ the better paramedic out of the two boys.

Adventuring had made it a vital skill.

"It was just an accident" Arthur assured for the upteenth time.

Mathieu nodded but didn't look him in the face.

When the boy finished, Arthur stood up and rested his good hand on Mathieu's head-ruffling the orange yellow locks.

"By the phone, there's a list of pizzerias that deliver-once it gets a bit closer to dinner time-choose one. Whatever toppings you like."

"But.." Mathieu looked over at his preparations for dinner.

"Wrap it up, we'll make use of it. Alfred and I will be returning early Sunday. This is supposed to be a restful day for you. So, let's keep things simple, shall we?"

The Canadian bit his lip. Arthur gently took him by the chin, so they locked eyes, "It's alright, lad. Now the tele's remote is either deep in the cushions or on the mantle. I've a guide with all the listings you can read through. Otherwise, you're welcome to put on a movie. I need to write an email and make a phone call, pet."

* * *

Several episodes of _Doc Martin_ later, Mathieu felt he was ready to make amends with his little brother. He didn't want them to be at odds. He didn't want Arthur's household to be in turmoil over a spat of sibling rivalry. He owed Arthur that much especially after…

Dieu! He didn't even want to think about it. He'd try again with the bandages after dinner. Hopefully his nerves would be calm enough then, that his hands wouldn't shake.

It was just…

He hadn't meant for any of that to happen at all!

He shook his head and took a breath.

He'd split the pizza. Half of it with toppings Mathieu wanted, the other half with whatever Alfred wanted. Food clearly meant something important to Alfred if today and Thanksgiving were anything to go by.

So pizza would be the Olive Branch.

He could work into those other "offenses" he'd committed from there.

The Canadian supposed, knowing his brother, any insinuation that he was "weak" (even imagined) was an assault on his ego.

Plus, he realized that Alfred was right about one thing: he hadn't hugged Alfred "hello" that morning...and it DID hurt Alfred's feelings.

He needed to set that right at least: he was glad to see Al. Glad to see him up and about and putting on healthy weight. Glad he was still here. That was what he'd fought for this past year.

He climbed the stairs with a sense of purpose.

Though…

The thought of Alfred's room still made him feel rather...

Earlier, after noticing quite a few of Alfred's belongings strewn about, Mathieu thought he'd do Arthur a favor and tidy up.

He intended to drop off the armful of manga books on Alfred's bed and then peruse Arthur's library only... the simple task turned into a hunt for Alfred's room.

Because Alfred wasn't stationed in the guestroom beside him as Australia or Hong Kong typically were when they all visited at the same time.

Which was odd...because he'd specifically remembered America mentioning how much he liked the window in his room...so Canada assumed he'd always choose the one on the end.

But no...his suitcase and belongings weren't there.

The sewing room hadn't been converted for him. There was no evidence that he had to camp out on the sofa bed in the living room.

The emergency-I-have-more-guests-than-I-expected-cots were still tucked away in the linen closet.

More searching revealed...that he wasn't on the same floor.

No.

Not even on the second, so he climbed further up.

It had been a shock to see the Master Bedroom's door yawning wide open on an unmade bed.

Arthur's room was usually immaculate (Yes, he'd only dared venture in twice-once because Barbados dared him and the other to make sure he wasn't too badly injured from Germany's attacks. Both times, the opulent Victorian decorations had made him fearful, he would ruin something. It was strange seeing the space look so...lived in.)

Still...that wasn't what made his heart race.

There'd always been a room. Right next to the Master Bedroom, that no one was allowed in. Ever.

He'd had a moment of dread honestly, seeing that room's door open.

It was usually locked.

Always.

Through the years, some of the others would fantasize about what was inside it? Secret valuables? Incriminating evidence? Broken cookware he was too embarrassed to throw out? Australia tried to pick the lock once and got his ears boxed. No one attempted again-though the stories of what was inside grew grandiose.

Mathieu couldn't help but feel that it was a blessing-in-disguise that none of them had made it in.

Because...it was worse. Far worse than any of them could've imagined.

Two steps inside had confirmed it as he locked eyes with a little wool rabbit toy set jauntily atop of a mess of bedcovers-its beady little eyes lording what they both knew intrinsically: this was _**not**_ a guest room...it was a bedroom. It was a bedroom with one specific occupant in mind.

Custom fit for one particular ex-colony.

The door to Alfred's room was part way open and he could hear Alfred talking.

Great. He felt irritation set in. Was he badmouthing him to Arthur, already?

Except...that it wasn't Arthur's voice answering.

He edged slightly into the room to see Alfred sprawled across his still unmade bed with both cats as he skyped with Texas.

" _Now whaddya want? Don't make me guess. You make me guess and you just get money in an envelope."_

"Hamilton Musical. Broadway. New York. February or March."

" _No."_

"Texxxxx. You said-"

" _Nope. I ain't goin' to that."_

"You asked what I wanted."

" _No. You need to want something else."_

"You love money, don't you? He's the dude on the ten dollar bill!"

" _I don't care."_

"Well you should, he's exciting! You'll like it. There's music and war and politics and strategy and duels and epicness!"

" _No. I made it through the Abe Lincoln thing at Disneyland. That's it. That was your force-your-brother-to-a-historical-figure-movie-presentation-pass. You used it then. I'm good."_

"Texxxx, you're like the only one who I can see it with. If I tell Hawaii she'll end up getting it wrong."

" _There's Alaska."_

"Oh yeah, I can picture him having a good time there."

" _Molossia."_

"No way. I don't want him spending that much on me. You know full well I don't want any of my territories spending more than five dollars."

" _Al."_

"Nope. Non-negotiable."

" _Al, I'm already fielding emails about that-they want me to talk to you about adjusting it for inflation-"_

"Nope, you tell 'em 'Al's got enough crap.' Use your hard drawl. The mean one that sent lawbreakers running. That'll make 'em back off-"

Texas rolled his eyes," _"Al…_

"Shipping alone is ridiculous. You make sure they flat rate it, okay? I can get presents in January. That's not a dealbreaker. In fact, it's something to look forward to. Because January is...January."

" _...I'll let 'em know."_

"Ya know...you don't have to get me the ticket, right? It's crazy expensive. I mean, I can buy it. I just...if you'd just say you'll go-"

" _Whoaaaa there nelly. Don't you go trying to regulate what I buy."_

"I just-"

" _No sir. You don't want the others spending on you that's fine. But you don't get to dictate what Big Brother buys. I wrote that out. You remember? When you were all 'No Texas, this horse is too expensive' and you insulted me forever by trying to make me get a refund? So I fished out that Living Arrangement Agreement document you made and I...amended it? Ya remember?"_

"..."

" _I remember. Betcha wished you hadn't said it was a living document then, huh? Cuz I've made gooooood use of that over the years."_

"..."

" _I got a picture of it. I can send it."_

"Fine, yes. I remember."

" _Respect it."_

"Fiiine."

" _Lookin' forward to Yule?"_

"Yeah! I think it'll be super cool. Like _Harry Potter_ meets _Secret Garden_ kinda. Arthur showed me pictures of the place-it's huge! And there's woods all around. He said being out in nature will help with my lessons cuz I'm a Gardener type. He also said there's a pond there and a garden maze and one of the rooms has been revamped with surround sounds for movies and-"

Mathieu blinked. The more he talked, the more it sounded like he thought he was going to be the only one there with Arthur.

As he grew more excited, his pitch went higher, "Scotland might even take me hunting! Like on horses! And Reilley said he'd teach me bad words in Gaelic! And Daddy promised he'd-"

"You know that there's going to be more of us?" Mathieu announced, entering the room.

"Huh?"

"You're not the only one Arthur invites to Kirkland Manor for the holidays."

Alfred blinked.

"We all go there. He just thought to invite you this time."

"..."

Mon Dieu!

Honestly, it was that sort of reasoning that made everyone irritated with him-like he just expected Arthur to abandon them all for Alfred's sake!

Yes, Arthur put a lot of his life on hold while Alfred had been captured-but that...that didn't mean the rest of them...that the rest of them weren't...important...

He felt his insides twist painfully.

" _Gimme a minute with Matt"_ Texas requested abruptly.

"Huh?"

" _Gimme a minute with Matt" t_ he Texan repeated.

"A minute?" Alfred asked too innocently.

" _Fine, wise ass. Gimme several. Matt'll come get you when I'm done."_

"Kay."

To Mathieu's shock, without another word Alfred got off the bed, exited the room and padded down the hall.

That just...didn't happen whenever America was involved. He was one of the most obstinate people, Canada knew.

He'd only begrudgingly gone upstairs out of concern for Camelot.

" _Matt?"_

He approached the laptop-feeling a bit spooked.

"Tex."

The brunet tipped his hat in greeting, _"You and I...well...we're brothers."_

He immediately nodded. It was a relief to hear Texas really acknowledge their relation.

" _We're brothers and we went through a hell of an adventure together."_

"Yes," he readily agreed.

" _Because of all that. I'm willing to just give you a warning, cuz after everything we've been through-I thought all-in-all you were...an alright guy."_

He supposed that...from Texas that was a compliment.

" _So I'm hopin' that you just put your goddamn foot in your mouth. And once you take it and the hockey stick up your butt out-you can have a holly jolly holiday time."_

Canada's mouth dropped; so...Alfred had already told Texas what happened.

" _You listen here…"_ the once Republic's voice hardened and his eyes flashed _"cuz I'm gonna make it_ _ **real**_ _simple: You make my baby brother cry again and I'm jumpin' the first plane over there and I'm gonna whoop your ass!"_

* * *

Alfred padded into Arthur's room but didn't see him. He swore he'd heard him enter a while ago, while he talked Tex's ear off. But who knew? Old houses creaked. Late at night he'd heard all sorts of floorboard movement.

"Dad? Daaaad? Daaaaaaaaad?"

While Texas said what he needed to, he figured he could take the time to verify what Mathieu had told him.

"Over here."

He located Arthur in the far recesses of his closet-kneeling in front of a black, narrow vault filled with rows of keys.

Alfred gaped, "Whoa."

And he thought he had a lot of keys-his dad had him beat-an array of sizes, shapes, and colors-from regular bronze and silver keys to some that had specialized designs.

"Hey Dad?"

"Mmmhmm" Arthur was busy scanning the contents of the vault.

"Canada said all of us are gonna be there…? For Christmas."

"Oh ha, no...alas-only ten" Arthur murmured ruefully.

"Ten?"

"You, Canada, Australia, Barbados, Hong Kong-"

Alfred watched numbly as he ticked names off on his fingers.

"Sealand, Wy, Seychelles, New Zealand, and Jamaica. Along with your uncles and myself of course."

"... _ **all**_ coming for Christmas?"

England blinked, "Sweet...I told you all of this when we were walking back. Through the woods? From Kirkland Hall?"

"Why do you keep calling it that?"

"Why is there an iron 'K' on the door?"

His face burned, "K for….for….for 'KEY NEEDED' o' course."

"And on the kettle?"

"For 'K-K-KETTLE'...duh…going through a labelling phase...everyone does at some point."

Arthur shook his head and sounded amused, "It's alright. You weren't paying attention-"

"I had lots of stuff on my mind!"

Arthur turned to better face him, "It's alright. I'm just glad we straightened that out now." He ruffled Alfred's hair, "That would've been a big surprise."

Alfred stared. Where was his insult? The scoff? His rolling of the eyes? The snobby disdainful _'how like you? To daydream at the worst possible moment...twit.'_

It didn't come.

He shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, "W-whatcha doin'?"

"Making sure I have my Master Key accounted for when we travel to Kirkland Manor. I bet it's been a while since you've seen one of them. A bit old fashioned perhaps but-"

He peered over his father's shoulder curiously. Above each ring and hook there were labels.

He spied ones like AU, BB, CA, HK, and JM amongst many others…

It seemed there was even another panel lying behind, filled with more keys.

Alphabetized…

Abbreviations...

He froze.

"Am...am I in there?" he asked bleakly.

"Of course" the first panel of keys swung forward on a hinge. "See? There you are. Tucked safe and sound under 'U.'"

Sure enough he too had a neat little label: US.

"Oh..."

He swallowed nervously-feeling his insides freeze. Something very unpleasant prickled at the back of his mind-like a sticky cobweb that wouldn't let go now that it had ahold of him.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I just...I...they're all..." he waved his hand at the vault. _I didn't expect to be part of a collection again..._

England nodded, "Keep them all protected. I take it very seriously. Should anyone ever break in (God forbid) I'd never want to put any of you in danger." He rested his hands on Alfred's shoulders, "I even hexed it for good measure. So you don't need to worry."

Categorized under 'U.' Part of the collection. He was always part of the collection. The long missing part finally back...

"What is it? Tell me. Is it about what Mathieu said? I don't think he meant to insult you. Wasn't talking about you at all. Anyone who knows you, knows full well you're far from helpless. You were always a sturdy little thing-from the time you were very small. I knew from our first meeting you'd be a strong one and I was right."

Alfred felt his cheeks warm to an almost unbearable level and he shook his head.

No that wasn't what had him worried…

Tex had snapped him out of that.

It was just...they were all gonna spend Christmas together?

He felt his heart hammer: what if he had another panic attack? In front of all of them? What if they heard his night terrors? What if he had another breakdown like this morning? What if-

His hands were given a gentle squeeze.

"Needn't be anxious" the Englishman told him gently.

The action made him notice, Arthur's bandaged hand.

His eyes focused on it...on the hand that protected him...and all the stuff he'd been worrying about seemed awfully small.

"I'm...I'm sorry about…" he looked down.

"Just a little burn dear. I think I'll live" Arthur remarked dryly.

"It's been wrapped all wrong" the boy mumbled.

"I know. I'll fix it in a bit."

"I can help with..." Alfred worried his lip "...I...just, so you know...for the future if...like that...again...I...I...you didn't have to. I could've taken it."

Yeah, it would've hurt like hell-taking a scalding kettle to the face but…

Alfred glanced at the injured hand.

But...

Arthur's reply made a lump form in his throat.

"I wouldn't want you to."

* * *

Read & Review Please :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Charles Dickens (because that would be odd and creepy). Or Bayadere ballet. Or Jean-Baptiste Lully (composer).

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). In which one siblings fights for a parent's love and attention and the other doesn't quite know what's really going on. I like Dicken's novels and I respect his championing social forms. However...accomplishments aside, he was a jerk and a TERRIBLE husband and father-so if you wanna research him further be warned. Fictional meeting of America and Charles Dickens. "De rien" is not quite as polite as "bienvenue." Huge historical note is huge. Feels. Alfred-centric chapter.

Headcanon: Alfred F. Jones VS. Manfred von Richthofen (The Red Baron) because it would've been an EPIC rivalry.

Headcanon: Because the fork didn't really gain popularity in North America until after the American Revolution (spoons and knives were the utensils at hand) of course America uses them differently-he taught himself!

 **Historical Note:**

*Charles Dickens experienced severe culture shock on his first visit to America (1842) and didn't mince words (he seldom did-wherever he happened to be-at home or abroad). He was thoroughly repulsed by the practice of slavery in effect in the South (TOTALLY VALID), the lack of copyright protection for his work (VALID), the "vulgarity" of his ardent admirers who flocked to see him (LESS VALID), the spitting of tobacco (mmkay...), the "rude" manners of poor rural farmers and frontiersmen (... :/). He was so far removed socially (even in spite of his humble beginnings-which were urban) from the realities of frontier life-it's amusing trying to imagine him there. And it's no surprise at all that by the end of his visit, he was rather disappointed by America. That said...his American hosts became similarly disenchanted with him; Proud, ungrateful, shallowly intellectual, and in love with own genius-he wasn't the "hero" they'd hoped to welcome in order to help repair Britain-American relations which were under strain at the time. His second visit in 1868 (following the Civil War) went much better. Though our Mark Twain would write (after attending one of his readings) that he was a "bad reader" who droned on with a bit of a monotone and wasted his chance to rile the crowd with emotion. XD (I agree with Twain and fastforwarding that sentiment to the modern day context-I always think it's a shame when authors insist on doing audiobooks despite their lackluster performance. If you're hilarious/engaging-do it. If not...please pass the microphone.)

*Palais du Luxembourg -originally intended as the home for regent Marie de Médicis, mother of Louis XIII of France. Remodeled and remodeled after the French Revolution to be a legislative building. Is currently where the French Senate meet. Beautiful building. Repeat: Beeeeautiful building.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! Looks like a lot of people can relate to the trials of having a sibling. Just about everyone has been on either side of the jealousy divide-most, I think, with a foot on both sides. I think we can all agree: it bites for everyone involved.

 **Chapter 16: Food Thief! A Yankee Doodle Menace**

* * *

Arthur collapsed into the hotel's chair. It had been an awkward plane ride-being seated between his boys as Mathieu passive-aggressively harassed his brother and Alfred countered by giving him the cold shoulder.

He'd hoped a good night's rest after pizza would've lessened the hostile feelings and incited the boys to work out some sort of apology on their own…(since they seemed rather averse to Arthur's input about it)...but...

God...

The tense atmosphere reminded him of sharing an equally uncomfortable carriage ride in 1824.

 _Alfred stared at as Arthur leaned out the carriage window to make him an awfully charitable offer...considering the past few decades._

 _At first the boy dismissed him-assuring he could make it on foot...formally dressed...in shoes that were not suited for such a long walk at all._

 _His feet would be terribly blistered when he arrived...if he arrived...it would require travelling through the seedier parts of the city._

 _No._

 _No, he'd be mugged...or worse._

 _Strength be damned, he'd be injured._

 _Arthur's fingers gripped the carriage window tightly as he offered again, this time remarking how colloquial it would be for Alfred to stumble into the ball late-windswept and muddy._

 _The lad's shoulders slumped and he hesitantly shifted from foot to foot before thanking Arthur for his consideration as he climbed up to ride in the boot of the carriage with the footman._

 _For someone of Alfred's low station and the fact that the carriage had only one available spot left (since they were supposed to pick up one of Arthur's advisers), it was the right action to take...but it made Arthur's heart ache to have him so near and yet so far._

 _When the man's servant informed them that he was too ill to join, Arthur immediately seized the opportunity and moved Alfred in._

 _The boy was grateful (though concerned about John the footman) when it began to rain._

 _Trapped in an enclosed space with only Arthur, Mathieu, and Jamaica-It should've been a time of a reconciliation-to acknowledge and move past the fiasco of 1812._

 _Instead the boys' resentment of one another was palpable despite Jamaica's attempts to lighten the mood with comical complaints about her dress._

 _Alas, her topic only lead Mathieu to comment on Alfred's less than fashionable outfit-the American's single breasted tail coat was at least ten years out of date._

 _As Mathieu spoke he subconsciously touched his fingers to the velvet collar of his overcoat._

 _There'd been little Arthur could do but agree and remark that Alfred would need to show more interest in matters in Europe if he was going to be in style._

 _By the end of the night several more countries and guests would make the same observation Mathieu had. And with each snicker Arthur would feel embarrassed for him anew, because if he'd only asked during their last meeting-he could've given him the names of several tailors who could've dressed him well-even on a limited allowance._

 _Alfred spent most of the night dancing (which got quite a few tongues waggling-though they at least weren't talking about his wardrobe anymore) but he disappeared near the end. Arthur asked Mathieu to find him while he finished up his goodbyes with a Russian dignitary._

 _Mathieu returned alone._

 _How sickening it had felt, when the carriage was made ready for departure...telling the driver to leave without Alfred…_

 _But he was an empire, and he couldn't afford to be seen waiting on the likes of America._

England sighed and looked over at the bed where America was figuring out the telly's remote.

They'd gotten a room with twin beds-more for Alfred's ego than practicality. They could've easily shared one, but Alfred insisted on two and did indeed "pay for his half" when they checked in.

He watched Alfred turn the channel to a brightly animated children's program.

The morning's flight made him awfully concerned-it made him question a lot of things...such as...had Mathieu looked for his brother that night in 1824? Two days ago, he'd have never entertained the thought but...now...

At first Mathieu had seemed like himself as they packed Mathieu's luggage into the boot of Arthur's car. He'd seemed upbeat and cheerful in his own quiet, peaceful way as he relayed his and Francis' plans to attend an opera. Arthur couldn't quite remember which one "La Bayadere"...perhaps?

Arthur had been glad to see him putting the night behind him and being so well put together despite the early hour. All of his things were packed and accounted for-dressed smartly for his day out with Francis.

The boy had smiled as he complimented his fine attire.

It was his other child that was cause for concern.

Despite two rousings, Alfred promptly fell back asleep-forcing Arthur to pack his clothes for him or they'd never leave on time. They'd agreed last night, it would be cheaper in the long run for them to simply share a suitcase.

Though Arthur had privately feared that together they'd risk additional fees if Alfred brought everything he wanted.

Yes, in the long run it was for the best; Arthur deciding exactly what got went in the suitcase and what stayed home kept the weight acceptable.

It took him a while though to realize Mathieu was watching him from the doorframe. Perhaps, it was then that he first started acting oddly.

Once the baggage was zipped, Mathieu silently took the bag downstairs-leaving Arthur to persuade a yawning Alfred to get dressed.

The drive was odd; Mathieu kept wanting to change the radio from classical to rock-which was out of character considering how much he usually enjoyed Jean-Baptiste Lully.

Arthur finally had to insist that the music stay tranquil. For God's sake Alfred was dozing in his booster seat.

Yes; it was difficult keeping himself from getting flustered as he guided a sleepy America and a disgruntled Canada through the airport.

America kept making comments like " _I wish I could just lie on the conveyor belt and they'd scan me and I could keep my shoes on and they could check for weapons and illnesses at the same time"_ and _"No, Martha I doubt I could manage another bite"_ and _"Frickin' Red Baron!"_

And while that was most certainly awkward and a bit embarrassing-the outbursts garnered some quizzical looks from airport staff-it was Mathieu's attitude which really started to grate him.

Arthur had entered a small cafe with the intent of buying Alfred a chocolate milk and a muffin-hoping that a little nourishment would awaken him and put an end to his nonsensical commentary.

Arthur offered to purchase Mathieu's breakfast as well but the boy stiffly rejected the offer-insisting he could take care of himself...and that surely Alfred could afford his own meal as well.

He'd raised an eyebrow at the boy and agreed before continuing with other "options" they could pursue: Why, they could neglect America's breakfast altogether and endure beastly behavior later OR wait patiently on the sideline as he embarrassed himself trying to figure out European money at five in the morning OR Arthur could just buy him the bloody blueberry muffin!

Canada had turned pink and gone quiet.

Thankfully, Alfred had been too engrossed with his food to catch the exchange. Unfortunately, even after some nourishment the child was still tired and ended up resting his head in Arthur's lap-hugging Arthur's arm like a toy as they sat down and waited for the plane to arrive-which prompted several pointed stares from Mathieu-as he deliberately sat across from them.

Whenever he asked Mathieu what was troubling him, he'd receive a short, bitter "Nothing."

It didn't help that once it was time to board-Alfred awoke and his first truly coherent thought of the day was to call dibs on the window seat on the plane. Which initially, was no great loss to Arthur; it wasn't that the height gave him vertigo per se, but whenever he did sit with a view-it made him acutely aware of all the things that could go wrong.

" _Of course. I get the aisle seat"_ Mathieu had grumbled.

Arthur offered his own, but the lad refused.

Alfred made no outward sign that he heard his brother and instead continued to stare out of the window, with bright blue eyes-seeming like any other child-excited for a family vacation and his brother was playing the role of sullen teenager perfectly.

" _You really do love being in the air, don't you boy?"_

The child had nodded.

" _Yes."_ He breathed on the glass and made a heart with his index finger.

Even several hours later, Arthur wondered if his face held that expression when he longed for the sea. He'd been told by Elizabeth that she could always see it in his eyes. Whenever she did, she'd dismiss him with the order of finding her something worthwhile (sometimes it was riches, sometimes it was land, and sometimes it was anecdotes).

Was that the look?

And Roanoke sacrificed it all for the fortitude spell…

But now that it was broken…

And considering his harrowing rescue of Arthur via flight…

Arthur crossed the room to sit beside his son.

"Have you tried?" Arthur asked abruptly.

The boy blinked dazedly at him, "Hmm?"

He lowered his voice to a near whisper, "Since...Halloween...have you tried to...fly?"

He almost wished he hadn't asked.

Though it flit across his face so fast-that no one besides a father would've caught it-the look of grief told him: Yes...and he'd been unsuccessful.

"I see...perhaps after Yule, you'll have enough magic and-and…"

"...yeah...maybe" he murmured in a semidetached tone.

"It's hard though" Arthur replied "isn't it, sweet?"

Alfred gained a far away look, "I almost forgot how good it felt...and now that I remember...I'm remembering how...even compared with the others…"

Arthur listened attentively.

"Osha could fire cast and there was this other guy who could-he had this drum and when he sung he could...and then there was me and I could...I could-"

Fly.

It gutted him to see those blue eyes look so sad.

"It was the only thing I had..."

"And Fate has seen to it, to return it to you."

"Tch. Yeah, 'cept I can't remember how to work it!"

"When we go to the Manor, we'll practice."

Alfred raised a disbelieving eyebrow and smirked, "You're gonna let me jump off stuff?"

"Goodness no! We-I-we will talk with Rhys, and we'll figure out some exercises!"

* * *

Alfred kicked a foot-admiring his light up sneaker.

Mathieu had left them immediately after they landed-choosing a different taxi and saying that Francis was expecting him at his flat.

There was no invitation to join them, so he and Arthur made for their own hotel.

Yeah, they'd see him later...but Texas would've hugged him goodbye anyway. Though...while Tex tended to be more fun and affectionate-he'd be the first to hug him, to high five him, to congratulate him...he also tended to be the first to call him out-high noon style.

Halfway there, Arthur demanded the details of their falling out. Because somehow during the last twelve hours their squabble had worsened. And as usual it was assumed to be Alfred's fault.

Alfred had shrugged, _"I dunno. Texas talked to him. Mattie was s'posed to grab me when they were done…he didn't. Poor Tex. He had to wait for like an hour before I decided to peak in."_

" _What did they talk about?"_

" _I dunno."_

" _Alf-"_

" _I dunno; Tex said it wasn't my business."_

Last night, Tex had also said to make sure the room was clear before he continued their conversation. Apparently, Osha had sent two more letters during his absence and what did Alfred want done with them?

Mailing them or faxing them to Arthur's house wouldn't cut it. Sending them to the Embassy might work, but that would involve more people handling them-and the more people knew...the more chances there were of a slip up.

Still, scanning them would require Texas opening them up and once they were opened...yeah, Tex could shred them after but...

" _What do you think I should do?"_

" _I dunno. Well, they'll be waiting here for you. You could...just wait. Have some time away…"_

" _I don't want her to think I'm cutting her out though! That I've forgotten her."_

" _Al…"_

" _Ya know what? Just mail 'em to the Embassy. I'll figure a way to swing by."_

" _...alright."_

" _Thanks Big Bro!"_

Now there was a brother he could count on when the going got tough! He didn't sound super confident in Al's decision...but he accepted that it was Al's choice to make.

They both knew that some decisions just didn't have a "perfect" solution. When push came to shove and the kitchen timer dinged, you just had to pick one.

Meanwhile, Arthur was continuing to fret over Mathieu-wondering if he was ill.

Alfred thought Arthur was overthinking it: Mattie just got this way sometimes. Maybe he was missing his polar bear. Or there was stuff going down at his place. Maybe there was a rock in his shoe.

Mathieu could be so sensitive-it really could be anything-anything could get his undies in a twist.

Or maybe he was suffering Alfred-Overload. It was perfectly normal for Mathieu to just go off by himself during their visits every now and then...especially when Alfred headed up North to see him.

His brother would leave a Post-It with: "Out of Maple Syrup."

And yeah...maybe Alfred wasn't the quickest guy on the uptake when his company wasn't wanted, but even he could eventually get the message.

"Maple Syrup Shopping" was code for "Sanity Searching."

Alfred put two and two together one day when he opened the pantry and found it stocked.

Usually when that happened, Al either parked himself in front of the T.V. for the day-especially if they still had business to take care of or he left his own note detailing the super-duper-urgent-not-made-up-on-the-spot-important-thing he needed to do in D.C. And since there usually _**was**_ something being screwed up back home that he needed to straighten out-it was never quite a lie.

Ultimately, it was better to sound like he was a ditzy forgetful guy, than that he was running away because it sucked to be left in someone else's house all by yourself cuz they didn't feel like dealing with you.

If he were honest with himself, it made him leery of visiting anyone for more than a few days. Like they invited you out of courtesy and you realized too late, they didn't mean it. Which just ends up pissing everyone off: because now you were a stupid, unwanted, nuisance and they were a big fat, insincere liar.

Alfred figured he probably ought to call Hawaii-her instincts were usually pretty good in this psychological field of stuff. She'd be able to figure out what he did wrong and help him fix it.

A few hours later Mathieu texted him that Francis needed a fondue pot. Apparently, he'd lent it to a neighbor who'd scorched it beyond recognition.

His _'Thanx Mattie : D Bro, ur a lifesaver'_ garnered a ' _De rien.'_

Which according to Google essentially meant "It's nothing" or "You're welcome."

See? He just needed some time spent alone in a taxi and more time spent with Francey Pants.

His Northern Bro was fine.

When he shared the news with Arthur, his old man winced with sympathy-he hated when that happened to his own cookware.

Alfred exercised an inhuman amount of restraint to suppress his urge to snarkily comment on that. He was smart enough to know he couldn't tick off the person who knew the streets better than him.

It did surprise him that Arthur was being such a good sport about going shopping for the "Frog"...and he actually knew a surprising amount of French-which made the transactions go more smoothly.

Though he did remark that he was surprised Alfred didn't know many expressions despite the amount of time he and Francis spent together together…those years.

There was something inside his tone-that Alfred couldn't quite decipher; bitterness? Sarcasm? Amusement? Disappointment?

Arthur wasn't facing him at the moment, but...he didn't _seem_ angry. And lately, it seemed like he was more open to talking about the 1770s-certainly didn't shy away from it yesterday.

Alfred took a deep gulp of air and he decided honesty was the best way to go-so he said the several French words he knew best-which immediately got Arthur to clap a hand over Alfred's mouth with a chagrined white eyed look.

"W-what the devil are-"

He pulled Arthur's hand away, "Geez, well pardon my French- _ **those**_ are the words that I know! Francis said them A LOT when we were on the battlefield! I learned a couple from Antonio too-"

"I'm certain you did" Arthur muttered. "Trust them to teach you those sort of things."

They weren't taught to him. They were just yelled and hissed and whispered a lot. He was bound to pick them up.

Alfred blinked-regarding his father curiously.

Yeah, they'd helped him fight during his Revolutionary War. But that was just it-they were fighting. It wasn't like they were chillaxing around a campfire playing Truth Or Dare and roasting marshmallows.

No...definitely not like that...

"They could be...kinda...irritating...actually..." Alfred admitted-remembering how boastful the men had been about their past military campaigns and why Alfred should leave important decisions to them. And maybe they DID have more experience...but Alfred knew his LAND better than them.

Arthur glanced at him shrewdly, "They were your allies. They help-"

Alfred shrugged, "They were helping me to help themselves. Don't misunderstand, I know my books sometimes downplay their role. But _I_ know we would've been hard pressed to have won without them stacking some stuff in our favor...but it wasn't charity motivating them. Let's face it, they wanted to stick it to you."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up.

"And I...I had to make use of the opportunity."

In that time, considering England's military might, it would've suicide to face down the old man outright.

Those other countries had weapons, uniforms, money, influence…

What? Did he honestly think he, France, and Spain were besties then or something?

No, they had their own interests. They saw England as a huge threat to their colonial interests...and Alfred made use of that.

It was part of the perilous dance of being a nation-whole damn thing was one great big highwire act.

He needed to entice those two Powers without falling prey to them-pretend to be the naive puppet but really be the shrewd puppeteer.

And once the thing was over, he needed to boot them out. He didn't feel much guilt over that either-neither man had really respected him at the time.

Habitually referring to him as a farmer or an ox or a dreamer-depending on the situation.

Alfred had to play it smart.

Arthur was quiet for an uncomfortably long time before he replied: "...clever boy."

The phrase didn't have the warmth Arthur usually injected it with, and he didn't hold Alfred's hand when they crossed the street.

* * *

The Palais de Luxembourg was uncomfortably fancy. Grandiose in a way that Alfred could definitely see how that French Revolution spiralled into its Reign of Terror phase.

They were set in a banquet hall much too grand and ornate for the small number of people attending. There were Yuletide touches here and there...but they were so...so….

It wasn't that Alfred had anything against pine cones-but they looked rather snobby and unrealistically symmetrical when forged from crystal. Like they were designed by somebody who lived in a bubble and had pine cones shown to them via illustrations. Somebody who didn't get that pine cones and fresh air and dirt...kinda went together.

All the garlands were artificial-he could tell with just one look.

"Mon lapin!" Francis exclaimed, kissing both of Arthur's cheeks and receiving a rather brutal gut punch.

"Mon petit lapin!" he wheezed as he proceeded to do the same thing with Alfred (though to the boy's relief Arthur shoved the man away).

It wasn't that he disliked the Frenchman by any means, but too much touching just...ew. He was on the lookout for strategically placed mistletoe after that.

Looking around at the other nations, he begrudgingly admitted that Arthur had been right.

At first, he'd thought the suit Arthur had packed him was rather stuffy: dark grey coat and pants with a black vest and a bright green silk bow around his collar.

He'd only relented in letting Alfred wear the felt antlers he bought earlier because he'd given him "sad eyes."

It was so weird how that worked again.

Looking around though...everybody was dressed to the nines.

Seriously people.

Next time, he wanted to host this; he'd make it an ugly sweater event and no one would be allowed in without one.

Arthur's outfit reminded him a bit of a Dickens novel and when he said so, the man had chuckled, _'You were fond of him weren't you?'_

That was an understatement.

The desolation Alfred felt when the author's first visit in 1842 to America ended with him condemning the nation for its vulgarity: from the despicable practice of slavery still in effect, to the rickety colloquial settlements scattered here and there, to the overabundance of enthusiastic admirers that dogged his steps-hoping to catch a glimpse of their "Hero" Dickens.

Everything was vulgar to him.

Even still, Alfred's love of the man's literature endured.

Later, during a visit in gloomy England-the fates aligned: a spooked horse pulled its carriage at breakneck speed.

Alfred managed to shove three street kids out of the way...but got ran over.

He lived. Of course. (His and Tex's motto by that time was: if you could survive an Oregon Trail wagon wheel and the oxen feet that went before 'em, you could survive just about anything with wheels...that saying would change once cars entered the equation and started moving with greater speeds than six miles per hour.)

Still, he might've milked the results a bit.

Touched by his heroism, Dickens (who'd apparently been in the crowd when it happened) would make a visit to the hospital to see him.

Lying there on the bed with some broken ribs, he extracted a promise: Dickens had to visit America again. For his sake.

Yeah, the author had already planned a second visit (which had been postponed by the Civil War) but this time…

This time he would go there with America as one of his tour guides.

And he did.

Mission accomplished.

Though they did have to put up with England joining them halfway through. How the hell his dad figured out they were chilling together, and why he wanted to be part of it he still didn't know. He complained the whole time.

Alfred drifted away from England's side as the Briton approached the other nations. Stalking the banquet table was a bit more challenging since his headwear jingled with every step. France had seen fit to dominate most of the table with his own dishes. However, there were desserts representative of each country.

Already he could pick out rugelach, powdered ferdin, struffoli, moontarts, maple syrup pie! Hell yeah, figgy pudding-that's yuletide festive. Gah! Red velvet cake sprinkled with peppermint! Yes!

And…

O….M...G…

Christmas rice balls! And some of them were decorated like reindeer! Had to eat it. Had to eat it. Had it eat it NOW.

Quick!

While no one was watching.

He happily reached up and pilfered his desired treat.

He thought he'd been pretty covert as he munched on the yummy treat until he heard a soft click.

He noticed Kiku totally watching him then from behind the lens of his faithful camera.

Crap.

He could practically see the WANTED photo of himself with a caption reading "Food Thief!" A Yankee Doodle Menace in several countries.

He should've waited until everyone else started eating. It was probably gonna be used as evidence against him! Maybe they'd even be some sort of penalty-like having to open his Secret Santa gift last?! Or wait til he got home to the hotel! Why did the Rudolph the Reindeer rice ball have to seduce him!? He felt his cheeks burn.

"..."

And a flurry of photos were taken right then...which made Alfred kinda uncomfortable, since usually Japan only took pictures of him when he was either doing something really incredible or really stupid.

Damn…

* * *

"Tines down, Alfred" Arthur murmured from the corner of his mouth.

"Why?"

"Because it's not a pitchfork."

"But it's shaped like a pitchfork, and the scooping motion makes more sense function-wise. You're able to carry more and the curve of the fork suggests that's why it's shaped this way."

"Alfred. Please, humor me."

"Gimme a good reason then; on why I should make the transportation of food from my plate to my mouth more difficult."

"Alf-"

"Doesn't bother China."

"In his mouth better than on the table, on his suit, or on the floor" China reasoned around a mouthful of filet mignon. "What? You want to pick up after him?"

He and China shared a nod.

Yup, that's why they could do business meals together. Him and Yao; they were on the same page, man...on the same page.

Arthur sighed, "Well, at the least...cut the food as you go, not all at once."

Fine. He'd give him that. But it wasn't enough. It never was.

"Hold the knife in...no hold in the knife in hand...don't juggle them dear. If you...no…"

"I didn't slurp the soup."

Nope. That mushroom soup went down quietly.

Arthur blinked and smiled bemusedly, "No, I suppose you didn't."

"Ugly duckling doesn't become a swan overnight, dude."

"You...you're not...we'll continue working on it."

"Tch."

Great. He was looking forward to that...NOT.

"You'll see. With a bit of practice-"

"Betcha Sir Gawain ate with his hands!"

Arthur's lips twitched a bit at that-but he let the matter drop and Alfred could finally eat his meal in peace! Geez. Shoulda sat next to Japan or Canada who could've just ignored his eating differences.

He was however relieved that he didn't have to read off his index card. Apparently, everybody was already spying on everybody else and as such they already knew about his downsizing and weren't shocked at seeing him.

Though it pissed him off that Russia now thought it was okay to make cootchie-coo gestures at him.

For the most part, they were more concerned about whether America would be participating in meetings again. When he assured that he would be, there'd been a collective sigh of relief.

Tch.

Babies.

Tex wasn't that bad.

As the meal progressed to the end, Alfred found himself getting excited.

He couldn't help it-he loved the presents part of Christmas. Working hard to get somebody a gift, wrapping it up special, and seeing how happy they would get when they actually got something they really wanted or needed.

And to think, he'd get to go through it today, on the 25th, at home with his American relatives when he arrived back in Virginia, aaaand still have a couple straggler-gifts come in during late January.

It always made him feel so special someone went through the trouble of getting him a gift-especially if they decorated it elaborately. Hawaii could do these awesome bows and Alaska was good at wire beading a design and mounting it to hang beside the name tag.

Maybe France got him and he'd get a ton of ribbons (that he could save and reuse). Oooh or maybe Japan! And he'd get a cute charm.

He practically exploded as several staff workers brought in the presents and set them on a small ornate table and began arranging chairs in a circle around it. He kicked his legs excitedly.

They'd had to hand their gifts off at the front door to an attendant to protect the air of mystery.

"Alfred, do calm yourself" Arthur murmured exasperatedly as he sipped at his wine glass.

Alfred frowned, "Maybe you've had enough Christmases and Yules to be bored with them now-but I haven't. I'm not working, I'm not in a warzone, I'm not guarding a fort in the middle of nowhere, I had someone to buy a present for, and someone's bought me one too, and I get to do the whole thing over again on the 25th! It's great!"

"Attention mes ami! It is now time for our Secret Santa gift exchange.""

"Yay!"

"Veeeeee!

Alfred practically leapt from his seat-causing it screech a bit as he ran to Francis' side.

Both England and German barked at him to mind his manners, but France didn't seem to mind.

He ruffled Alfred's hair, "Ah, la joie d'enfant…"

He volunteered himself, "I can help pass them out!"

Usually he and Tex flipped a coin for the honor.

Francis nodded graciously accepting his assistance, though it did surprise him that the Frenchman handed out the heavier ones.

He skipped over to the only available seat which was unfortunately between Russia and Germany. Still he had a present!

It was a small white box with a big bright red bow and his name had been written all artistically-with lots of pretty loops and curls.

Soon there was a rumpling crumpling noise as wrapping paper and gift bag tissue were torn through.

Much to Alfred's satisfaction, France seemed delighted with the gift.

"Awwww. Merci beaucoup mon coco. J'ai t-"

"You're welcome!" Alfred replied. That happy tone had to have meant thank you. In fact it was so thankful, he'd forgotten to say it in English.

Francis stared.

"Mattie mentioned that you needed it and I, being the hero that I am, quested around for it...Arthur helped kind of. He wouldn't let me take short cuts through certain streets and neighborhoods though…and do you see how the ribbon is tricolor? I did that on purpose."

France stared and then hurriedly stuttered, "M-merci, Alfred."

From the looks of it England got a large ornate picture frame (which was good, since he seemed to have a lot of pictures), Canada had a maple-flavored whiskey bottle (he could probably make friends with Tex if he shared it), Germany had gotten...pasta-which left no mystery of who his gift giver was.

Alfred turned his attention to his own present.

His excitement piqued as he slowly pulled the ribbon free.

It was a good ribbon-silky on both sides and bright red. He might tie it around Hop. His toy could use a little sprucing up.

As he began to lift the lid, he let his eyes flit around-feeling a smidgen of irritation because no one seemed to be watching him open his gift.

His irritation dissolved as he saw what lay inside…because...no...no, he didn't want anyone to see this…

In fact, if he could just disappear the way Canada seemed to manage whenever he wanted-he'd do so right now.

Because.

There.

Inside the small square box…

Was a baby pacifier...

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Life Alert and its commericials. Or Sherlock Holmes. Or Confucius and his sayings. Or Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers and their theme song. Or the Academy Awards. Or Rock Band. Or Facebook. Or Ray Hagins song 'I'm About to Whoop/Whip Somebody's Ass' which has a hilarious remixed animated baby chick version. Or Shakespeare's Tybalt in _Romeo and Juliet_. Or Sir Gawain. Or Google and its GPS.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Insensitive joke about being adopted to make a third party feel bad. Some very amateur sprinkling of French, Italian, and German. Apparently, a pacifier is called a "Dummy" in the U.K (British slang). Chocolate pasta is a real thing...and I desperately need to try it. More incorporated bits from 'Wendigo' because...I can copy and paste with the power/blessing of this website's preview function of my own work. Yule log cake is a delicious take on an old tradition which usually involved keeping a fire burning on the darkest night of the year. The French (along with many other European nations) largely don't believe in letting people take home their leftovers or untouched meals from restaurants (which is just...unfathomable to my red, white, and blue American mind...maybe _our_ embrace of it is a lingering cultural effect of the Great Depression?). DVD ratings-US and UK. Texas being Texas. Monroe Doctrine. There will be feels...for...everybody. Ye be warned.

 **AN:** Wooo! We've passed the 600 review mark! : DDD Woooooo! Thank you for your continued support! I love reading your reviews-the outrage on Alfred's behalf...has been awesome. I'm glad you guys are tuning in! Enjoy!

 **Chap 17: The Good, The Bad, And The British Of It**

* * *

Alfred's instincts screamed: _'Escape!'_

So he did-shoving the small box into his pocket and skedaddling out of the room.

When Arthur asked where he was off to, he yelled a quick, crass "Bathroom!" over his shoulder as an answer-reasoning that was the best reply to give to keep folks from following him.

Though he bypassed that particular hiding place, because if British ghosts in a bathroom were creepy and unnerving French ones could be worse; probably chatty and perverted.

After all, if Francis was a ghost...just think of all the naughty things he'd do and want to talk about.

Outside would be better.

A brisk wind chilled his face as he walked along the patio...though patio was a "peasant" word to describe the stone work under his feet.

He stared out into the impressive garden:

Shame you weren't allowed on it save a tiny tourist designated spot, plus it was nighttime-so it was technically closed.

Which sucked, because laying down on some grass and staring up at the stars might have been enough to shake the funk he was descending into.

Another cold breeze whipped his hair.

Geez, every newspaper and news station was commenting on how unusually mild the season was-still pretty friggin' cold in his opinion. He should've grabbed his outer coat-it had his gloves.

Still, at least the view was cool-always had been.

Maybe he'd say hell to the rules and race across that lawn to where the gate stood.

Perhaps, he wasn't as strong as he used to be-but a few metal bars shouldn't be impossible for him to bend. He was still a superpower and he was smaller now-so he would just have to bend them a little to slip through.

Unfortunately, being little was the whole problem-and it led him right back into thinking about the pacifier.

A baby.

Whoever sent it viewed him as a pathetic baby.

Did everyone think that now?

That he was…

Useless?

Helpless?

His government was at a loss of what to do with him.

Did they all feel the same?

Was the jerk who sent him it laughing about it right now?

Were the others laughing with him as he shared what he did?

Alfred bit his lip; he needed some serious chill time to get over this.

A couple hours alone in the hotel away from...everyone...would help.

He'd just use the GPS on his phone and he'd be able to find his way there.

Because he wasn't a baby.

He didn't need to depend on Arthur getting him places-that's what satellites were for.

Didn't need the old man cautioning him that Rue St. Denis and a couple others were dangerous.

He was America and he could still hold his own-no matter how scary the gangs in this nation (or any nation really) were.

He was tough.

He'd show 'em all.

Damn.

It was like he had to prove himself all over again. The 1770s were over dammit. He won. He was powerful. Everybody accept it already!

Mind made up, he no sooner began moving when-

"Stupid America making old men go looking for him. They brought out Yule Log cake. You nowhere to be found. England bothering everyone now...why you out here?"

He glanced over to see Yao with his arms folded-face frowning.

"It's nothing…" Alfred mumbled.

"Wasting my time!"

He always barked that whenever Alfred went off on a tangent or wasn't doing things how Yao wanted them done.

Reluctantly, he pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it. Otherwise Yao would just keep bothering him. Bossy old timer.

Yeah. He could understand diplomatically why China was invited-he was currently a powerful global influence-Duh. But Alfred's night (and Texas' filling in for him) would've gone a lot easier-if Yao wasn't being invited to so many G8 meetings and events.

China threw his head back and laughed as he took it from him, "Ha! This is your present? That is funny. Because you were already young...and now you're younger...HA."

Alfred frowned-his anger sizzling anew.

"Hey, there's money underneath" the older nation noticed.

Yeah...but...fifty Euros didn't seem like much compensation when his dignity was hurting at the deliberate jab to his downsizing.

"What? You too big shot to care about the money? You'll always be in debt that way! Never pay me back. You don't want it, I'll-"

Alfred snatched the gift back, pulled the money out, and shoved it in his pocket.

Yao smirked, "Now you using your head again. Good to be practical. So somebody is a big jerk. Big deal. Longer you stay out here, longer you let them win."

The Chinese man turned on his heel and began moving away.

"H-hey, why are you…? Wait, that's it?"

"That's it. Time for cake."

"No Confucius this or that?" Usually Yao loved showering him with the dude's sayings-insisting that "Idiot America" could benefit from such teachings.

Yao smirked.

Awwww, dammit. Alfred couldn't believe he actually asked for it.

" _Requite injury with uprightness and requite kindness with kindness"_ China recited proudly.

"Thank you, I feel so empowered" Alfred replied flatly and then huffed "I thought you were gonna give me the _'treat others as you want to be treated'_ spiel."

"No way! Don't need you twisting that around and thinking your bully **_wants_** to be bullied back! Like it's a weird fetish. This is different. Get even. But...don't go overboard, aru."

Alfred blinked and laughed-harder than he expected, "That would be some poetic justice though!"

China shook his head and continued walking away and back into the building.

"Hey! Why aren't you waiting for me?"

"I'm old. I don't walk fast. I need head start."

Alfred huffed and hurried after him just as a security guard intercepted them.

"Monsieur," he addressed Yao "You are one of Monsieur Bonnefoy's guests, non?"

"Yup!" Alfred answered.

The man blithely continued, "Le jardin will be open again tomorrow. Zere are pamphlets inside with ze hours-"

"Yes, I know," Yao huffed.

"Well zen you and your…"

He seemed to notice Alfred and Yao's...ethnic differences...then...

"Son?" Yao supplied.

"...fils?" the man blinked unsurely with the air of someone who was new to their job and likely didn't even know what the attendees of the fete (see Arthur? Mattie? Francis? He knew a couple more French words!) really were.

It was too good a setup to waste.

He and Yao shared a predatory glance-it was one of those moments where their senses of humor aligned perfectly.

Naturally, there was only one way they could play this out.

"Oh. My. God…" Alfred gasped "I'm adopted..."

"Nonono, you-"

"You just said I was double recessive! But I'm not! I'm adopted. O the LIES!"

"Look what you do! We were gonna wait til he eighteen before-"

"LIEEEESSSSS!"

Alfred gave a desolate wail and conjured some crocodile tears which wasn't too hard because One: he was still feeling pretty miserable and Two: when he was still a fledgling sovereign state, Congress had been concerned about his lack of stage presence. As a result they'd fully supported him entering plays and working for circuses, so that he could develop a more dynamic speaking voice and theatrical grace and therefore give speeches, command troops, and perform in front of other nations more easily.

He'd always been proud that he made a very convincing Tybalt in _Romeo and Juliet_. Had gotten that role several times over the years with his excellent combat skills. It was always easy for them to choreograph fight scenes with him. He'd been Paris once (when the actor was sick), but the audience ended up liking him too much and the director had to move him back to Tybalt the following night and have a family member play the Paris role instead.

Hahaha! Nailed it! He looked over his shoulder-the guard stood there flabbergasted as Yao dissed him in Mandarin.

He deserved an Academy Award.

Ha!

He was gonna rock this night!

He was gonna stuff his face with desserts!

He wasn't gonna let any jerk keep him down!

He was-

"Oof!"

"Oof!"

NOT watching where he was going...

He collided full force with the back of someone's legs-sending them both tumbling.

Several British cuss words alerted him that it was Arthur.

The Briton groaned for a moment and then heatedly barked, "Alfred!? What've I told you about running indoors?!"

Alfred slid off as Arthur turned himself over, "Explain boy! What if I'd been a human event coordinator or a cement planter or a…" he stopped, demeanor changing entirely as he faced him. His tone darkened, "What happened?"

"N-nothing."

Arthur's eyes narrowed and Alfred realized belatedly that his face was a mess.

He hastily tried to brush the tears away on his sleeve, and in that moment of distraction Arthur pulled him onto his lap, "Alfred, what happened?"

"It's nothing."

Arthur immediately began checking him over, "Did you hit something when you went down?"

The man glanced around for any sharp crown molding

"No."

He paused, "Did you have a panic attack?"

"No."

"Did someone say something...mean spirited?" He looked suspiciously at several staff workers several paces away who were pushing carts piled with dirty plates out of the banquet room.

"N-n-no."

"Then why are you…you..."

Arthur's eyes widened as he noticed something to Alfred's right.

Crap.

The box had opened and the pacifier now rested beside it.

England…did NOT laugh.

"Oh...Alfred..."

Alfred felt his eyes sting at the sympathetic tone.

* * *

Livid wasn't a strong enough word to describe the fury swirling in Arthur's breast.

What a vicious prank.

Alfred's half-hearted assurances that it wasn't a big deal and there'd been fifty Euros underneath it-weren't convincing in the slightest.

"See?" the child waved the notes "See, it's...it's...okay. They just wasted their own money ya know." the child mumbled-trying and failing to keep a stiff upper lip.

Arthur took another deep breath to try and steady himself.

"It's just a joke…" the boy flashed a wobbly smile that just...gutted Arthur. "Just...teasing me...I get that a lot. Sheesh...it's not a big-"

Arthur sighed, "I...I am appalled that someone would stoop-"

"S-stop-" the child pushed at his arms.

Arthur ran a hand through the child's hair even as smaller hands tried to swat it away.

"Al-"

"No. S-stop that. N-not a baby."

Arthur frowned.

Just...brilliant. Now every affectionate gesture he made for the next 48 hours would have unintended undertones of insult.

"I-I need you to just stop that. Everything. The looks, the words, the hair petting, the-the-"

Before Arthur could protest that he wasn't going to allow anyone's twisted sense of humor to drive a wedge between them, Alfred growled "I must go back. And I must eat cake and drink punch and be as merry as possible to prove what an abso-bloody-lutely great time I'm having. I have to. Tis the best way to spite the jackass causing me troubles. Do you understand?"

Blue eyes locked on green.

Arthur blinked. Apparently, alcohol wasn't the only thing that revived Alfred's colonial accent. Being terribly frustrated could make it resurface.

Such a lovely little lilt.

He remembered when non-rhotic accents were first sweeping Britain. It was a sign of belonging to the elite class-symbolizing a future where one went to university in England and kept company among important statesmen and nobility.

He'd done everything he could to ensure Alfred picked it up, but then the damned revolution came and ruined his plans.

Alfred didn't seem aware that his accent had slipped-too caught up in his emotions.

It was a curious thing though; it suggested that his accent was still rather malleable.

Such a shame...Arthur couldn't properly enjoy the moment; the tone was far too pained and angry.

Arthur gently cupped his face.

"No" the child hissed trying to pull away "Stop it. Just. Stop. Must stay angry or-"

His voice cracked.

"No" Arthur breathed; enfolding him into another, tighter embrace, "No...this was deliberate...a prank meant to injure you. And...and you need to give yourself a moment to be upset."

Obviously, he wouldn't give the boy leave to wallow about it for days-but he deserved this moment (right after it happened) to be hurt...and to be comforted.

Alfred glowered at him-eyebrows knit together, lips pursed tight, flesh turning pink and eyes...eyes already betraying him.

Arthur pulled the child to rest against him and stood up-determined to find them a quiet place where Alfred could be safe to express his distress.

And he wanted that: for Alfred to consider him a safe person to talk to about things that troubled him.

He swayed from foot to foot.

Wished he had come to him first…perhaps he'd wanted to but…

Damnation.

Arthur had been distant, hadn't he?

After Alfred had spoken about their war, Arthur had been too bloody busy patting himself on the back for not losing his temper, he'd failed to realize that he hadn't given the boy any assurance-that...he could tell him those sort of things and it wouldn't unravel their bond.

It hurt.

God, it hurt...to know Alfred had known full well what Arthur's enemies thought of him and had coldly made _"use of the opportunity,"_ ignoring...no, turning his back on centuries' worth of love and care.

Even contemptuously referred to his allies as _"kinda...irritating…"_

It all made Arthur's stomach churn, because it meant his Alfred wasn't the wholly innocent dreamer, he'd imagined him to be. And it had been so much easier envisioning him as a young somewhat rebellious idealist dragged into the middle of skirmishes before he knew what was at stake because his people's desires had landed him there.

No; it meant he was more calculating than Arthur often gave him credit for.

He'd known full well what his rebellion could cultivate in. Had strategically aimed to injure his father to have his way.

It made the sense of betrayal ache all over again.

And yet...

Even while that twisted the knife deep, Kirkland Hall kept coming to mind as if to act as some manner of salve for his wounded heart.

The existence of Kirkland Hall and the furnishing that continued until 1812...

All of that meant…

Meant...

Alfred had expected to be forgiven.

Arthur blinked.

There was his dreamer...who risked everything on the belief that the war and what it entailed could be forgotten-glossed over.

It was naive and selfish and entirely like a child-who believed wholeheartedly that his father should always welcome him back. No matter his trespasses. No matter his crimes. No matter how deeply he'd injured his parent. He could beckon and Arthur would go to meet him (and though that had occurred throughout the years, Arthur had often trudged toward him with a heavy, bitter heart).

Yes, the child was ultimately correct: there hadn't been a day where Arthur didn't long for their estrangement to end but…

His eyes widened.

But Fate had intervened and botched things.

Before Kirkland Hall could be presented…

Before its key could be properly gifted…

Before they could reconcile…

1812.

Unbidden his time in Alfred's subconscious arose:

 _Emotion lanced through him like high voltage._

 _Rage…_

 _Pain…_

 _Fear…_

 _Frustration..._

 _Betrayal…_

 _Humiliation…_

 _Disillusionment…_

 ** _Grief…_**

" _...you said I'm your wittle Alfwed. You feed me and pwotect me and cawwy me... you're my Daddy, wight?"_

" _Father…"_

" _You'll keep me safe."_

" _You're not anyone's darling."_

 _The White House went up in flames..._

 _The feeling of loss was overwhelming in its intensity._

" _...I just figured_ ** _you_** _knew the way_ ** _very_** _well…"_

 _Pride…_

" _I'm the one that's right. I was always the one that knew better. I knew from the start you were a liar."_

" _There's no way I can shoot you, I can't."_

 _A very small Alfred had kissed his hands-_

 _"Because they are kind to me."_

Until they weren't.

 _The horrified blue eyes that met him then; as if Arthur's open handed slap had been the greater offense compared to what Alfred had said about their king!_

 _"He regretted not shooting you when he had the chance...He didn't make that mistake again."_

 _Resolve…_

 _"It'll never be over."_

 _Spite..._

" _I knew from the start you were a liar."_

Alfred thought he'd witnessed his father's love…

" _You're not anyone's darling."_

Fail…

And he abandoned Kirkland Hall…

And he surrendered the surname of Kirkland…

And he let an ocean stay between them...seldom venturing across it to see his father...anymore...

" _...you were a liar."_

" _You're not_ ** _anyone's_** _darling."_

" _..._ ** _liar_** _…"_

He clutched the child close as his heart hammered.

"Shh. My darling. **_My_** darling, it's alright. I'm here."

The tears against his neck burnt like acid.

"I'm here" he assured almost desperately. "Shhh luv," He pressed a kiss to the boy's cheek, "You just a need a moment. And that's alright."

Hell, he needed a moment too, to collect himself after that horrifying revelation. God, he wasn't sure how to even begin to broach it without falling to pieces himself. Had he really failed that miserably as a father?

No; he couldn't get sidetracked by his own melancholy when his child who needed him right now.

As if to second that, little arms twined more tightly around him.

"You know why that's alright? Why that'll work out?"

The boys shook his head-mute save for some hiccups.

"Because I'm here." He brushed the fringe out of Alfred's face.

The boy stared at him blankly-looking so damn miserable and pitifully alone that Arthur couldn't help but wonder if that was his expression following their second war.

He kissed the boy's forehead.

And dammit, hadn't anyone thought to do anything about it?

"It's my turn right now; **_I'll_** be the one who is outraged…" he struggled to keep his voice steady "I have enough fury for us both."

"G-good cop...bad cop?" Alfred sniffled.

"Precisely."

Oh...he'd be the "bad" copper alright.

Because bugger it all…

To give Alfred a dummy...really now?

He felt his anger coil.

Boy, underwent a traumatic experience involving hostile captivity, violent rescue, and who knew how many mind games and trivializing it with-with…

Damnation, it made him furious.

Especially, when it was becoming quite clear that Alfred was very private when it came to expressing pain. And seemingly gave his all to hide it.

But he couldn't hide his downsizing.

And upon his first meeting back...to have someone cruelly mock him for it.

He gave the child a gentle squeeze.

Perhaps, they just ought to simply leave for the hotel, turn in for the night, and Arthur would solve the mystery on the morrow.

Yes.

He could call their host from the cab-have Arthur's present mailed to his home (to avoid offending his Secret Santa by simply abandoning it as he was tempted to do right now) and spare Alfred anymore cruelty.

Alfred didn't need this.

Neither did Arthur.

Arthur nodded to himself. Yes; they'd return to the hotel-order something decadent off the dessert menu, watch the Power Rangers DVD he'd seen in Alfred's suitcase (and packed along just in case), and before bed read a few passages of their beloved tale: _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_.

Arthur could salvage the night yet!

Unfortunately, before he could spirit them away, Italy turned the corner.

"There you are! It is dessert time and we have already started and you are missing out …and…oh..."

"We need a moment, if you please" Arthur remarked stiffly as Alfred buried his face from view.

Italy's smile fell and then he cried, "GERMANY! Aiutami!"

"Hast Du Probleme?" Germany demanded "Did your head get stuck in the railing again?!"

"No! But hurry!"

"No, Italy!" England argued "That's not neccess-"

Footsteps thundered toward them, and Germany slid to a stop nearby.

"What is the prob…" he blinked-not quite sure what to make of them.

England sighed.

Well then…

He'd have to change strategies. What he planned to do in the morning, he'd just do now and try to keep attention off the boy for a moment more.

"I need the list" England stated imperiously.

"The list?"

England nodded, "The gift exchange list. I need it. At once."

"Why? What is the matter?"

"Get. Me. The. List. Please."

"I believe Japan was in charge of it" Germany replied.

Italy reached over to pat America on the back, "He didn't get pasta, Germany. This is the posture of someone who didn't get pasta. But we can fix that. We can go to the kitchen and I can make him chocolate pasta! Everything's better with chocolate pasta, vee! Isn't that right, Germany?"

"Er. Hem. Yes. Japan created the list."

"I see, please inform him to meet with me. We have a situation."

"No we don't" Alfred mumbled. "S'probably just Ivan...being mean…"

"Japan. Please."

While Germany fetched the other island nation, Arthur swayed from foot to foot again. Relieved when the little one in his arms slowly began to relax.

His relief was short-lived when Germany, Japan, and France returned.

Bloody hell. He just needed Japan! Yes, this event had been rather boring, but for Alfred's sake could they at least pretend not to be so morbidly interested? Bugger off already!

"What iz wrong with mon petit-"

"Frog. Not the time. I just need to speak with Japan."

Francis ignored him and came around to get a better look at Alfred.

"Amerique..."

The child's arms curled tighter around Arthur's neck.

Arthur felt his hackles rise-the way they often did during the 1600s when Francis tried to usurp his colony.

"Alfred. 'ow about we go in and see ze Bûche de Noël I made. I would like your opinion on it."

Thankfully, Francis made no outward expression of alarm to the puffy, slightly snotty face that hesitantly turned toward him.

"I need to know...if it iz sweet enough" Francis murmured seriously. "As a nation of delicacies, it is imperative zat my cuisine dazzle ze tastebuds of all present. I believe you are ze only one who hasn't 'ad a slice yet."

"I haven't tasted it either" Arthur bit out.

"Ze only one zat hasn't tried who still has some tastebuds left."

Cheese Eating Surrender Monkey.

"Is...it chocolate?" Alfred questioned.

"Oui, several flavors; ze cake, ze frosting, and ze "bark." Zere are meringue mushrooms, too."

It was rare that Arthur was thankful for France...he grudgingly marked a mental tally on the blackboard at the back of his mind.

"What do you say, poppet? Are you willing to assist him? He isn't terribly bright, so you would be doing him a grand fav-"

"Connard."

"...See? He says it a lot. That's why I know that one…"

Francis had the good grace to turn pink at that.

Alfred slowly unwrapped his arms.

But...who to hand him to?

Who could he trust with his offspring while he got to the bottom of this mess?

Germany had gone very stiff. He looked terribly nervous and almost imperceptibly shook his head 'No.'

Italy beamed eagerly...but he was far too clumsy.

France held his arms open, "Honhonhon, let Big Brother France cheer you up Amerique."

Arthur's eyebrows twitched ominously.

Never.

He gasped as the child was abruptly snatched out of his hold and settled on China's hip.

W-when did he show up?!

"Go. Do your Sherlock-ing. Come on Alfred, we see if this cake half as good as he's boasting."

Francis squawked at the barb.

"Are you sure you can carry me? I mean, you're like...not gonna break a bone or something and be like those commercials _'Ahhh, I've fallen and I can't get up'_?"

"Young people today so rude" China huffed as he left with France, Italy, and Germany close behind.

* * *

Alfred coated his fork in frosting and then licked it off-savoring the rich chocolaty goodness.

Ya know. Arthur had been right; letting off some steam and then eating some dessert made him feel hella better.

Arthur better watch it though-if he kept volunteering as his 'shoulder to whine on' (which was usually Tex's job) he'd end up calling him to complain about all sorts of stuff-like sad ending movies that shredded his soul.

It was kinda weird though...how easy it was getting to fall into that habit-like he was getting hijacked into a subroutine that he thought had been deleted years ago.

Mmmmm...this cake was awesome….moist and sweet.

Bliss.

"Hey Mattie?"

His brother jerked to attention, "Hm?"

"I was thinking. You got a pretty big bottle of whiskey as a present, right? So...you probably wouldn't mind sharing some of it...right?"

Mathieu gave him a flat look. As if to say: you're not getting a drop.

"Texas loves whiskey! It owns a part of his heart that I'll never have."

Canada blinked.

"You share that and be willin' to play cards and you guys'll be friends in no time!"

"..."

Alfred fiddled with his fork, drawing a few designs in the chocolate with its tines, "Scotland said that when I was...away...you were trying to make friends with Texas. You... didn't give up, did you?"

"...n-no...not...exactly…"

"Good! It'd...it'd be nice if we could all...play cards and stuff...sometime...and we can go to the arcade, too. I mean, I don't want us all to just be Facebook friends...ya know?"

"..."

"Mattie?"

"You...really ought to use the cake fork Alfred...you know if Barbados catches you doing that..."

Alfred frowned looking down at his cutlery-but holding the big one just made more sense! He was hungry for cake! Now he was really tempted to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Just to see what his brother would do.

"Tch."

"Where's Arthur?"

"Hm?" he patted his mouth with the napkin. See? He could do basic table manner stuff. "He's asking Kiku for the Secret Santa List. You wouldn't believe it! Some creep sent me a mean gift. But I've been thinking about the packaging. It came with a red ribbon. Ya know. RED."

He glared pointedly at Russia who proceeded to do "Peek-a-boo" from his spot at the end of the table.

"God, that guy. I can't believe we were on friendly terms in the 1800s."

"..."

"Yup. Anyways. Arthur's checking into it while I simmer down. Now I'm open to suggestions on this, but I'm thinkin' I should give the jerk something dumb back. But it has to be something that can't be turned into a weapon. Maybe...fuzzy dice or a hula girl for the dashboard? Do you think either of those is a good one? Changing gears; I was wondering...Since you've gone to the winter thing with England a lot. What's it like? I mean, like, gimme the low down. Is it fun? Be honest. Arthur says it is, but Arthur thinks watching Chess tournaments is exciting. I mean I wanna know what I'm getting myself into: the Good, the Bad, and the British of it. Is there gonna be marmite? Will I have to wear a tie to everything? Is there a Chore Wheel that we spin to divide up household tasks? Cuz there's gonna be a lot of us there, right? So there's gotta be ground rules for keeping stuff clean. Do we each get our own room or do we share? You wanna share? I packed Rock Band-you can be the guitar...unless Arthur's playing...cuz I think the guitar is the only controller he'd wanna play with but if it's just you and me you can...Mattie?"

He blinked as he turned and found the seat beside him empty.

"M-mattie?"

He glanced around, "Mattie?"

He checked under the table-just in case.

"I did pack antacids, if you need 'em" he mumbled. "Just...puttin' that out there."

But there was no response.

Oh crap.

It was like a horror movie!

Trust Mattie to go out silently without even a gasp to warn the rest of them.

He shivered and noticed Arthur at the door beside Francis.

"Mon ange?!" Francis shrieked.

They knew!

"The ghosts must've got him!" Alfred cried in dismay "Mattie was here a minute ago. And now he's GONE!"

Both men stared at him.

"Dudes, we gotta act fast. They might human-sacrifice him or something!"

Arthur sighed, "Alfred, dear?"

"Y-yeah?"

"No more monster movie marathons alright, pet?"

Alfred's cheeks puffed, "I promise nothing!"

The next two hours didn't pass quite how Alfred imagined they would.

Though he did get to take quite a few sweets with him to the hotel. Which was shocking! Francis usually didn't condone "doggy bags" for leftover food. Dude broke protocol but only after he made Alfred swear up and down that he wouldn't let them spoil and give himself food poisoning.

Pffft. He'd been raised by Arthur. Cast-iron stomach. Duh!

Still, he'd been glad to leave the event early and throw on some comfy PJs to kick it around their hotel room.

England was acting...off though. He'd stayed in his suit, had paced around a bit and then finally laid down on his bed-the one by the door.

He'd assured Alfred multiple times on the cab ride over that Mathieu was perfectly fine, but he didn't sound….quite right when he said that.

Alfred sighed. He felt obliged to cheer him up-it was only fair. Arthur had done plenty today to keep him happy.

"Do you wanna cookie? I mean er-biscuit?"

England was on his bed by the door-staring up at the ceiling-his lips in a grim line. He shook his head.

"Do you wanna watch the news? You like the news, right?"

"I'm waiting for a phone call."

"Oh…Oh!"

He hopped down and went to retrieve Hop and the red ribbon the dreaded Secret Santa gift had come with.

"Hey. While we're waiting..."

Arthur looked at him as Alfred pushed both items into his hands.

"Can you give him a cravat bow? I want him to be in style."

"This…" Arthur looked over at the white box.

"I got lemons. So let's make lemonade!" Alfred quipped.

Besides if anything could get Arthur going, it was Victorian fashion. He usually got stars in his eyes whenever steam punk was mentioned for the sheer fact that it let him steer the conversation into talking about the Victorian Era.

Dude could talk for hours about the fashion, the architecture, the furniture, the literature, the Empire-y things he was up to.

So it came as a shock, when Arthur folded the ribbon and set it on the bedside table. He placed Hop on the pillow next to him and then hoisted Alfred up as well.

"I will give him a bow" he promised "But not from that. I have a basketful at home. You can choose from those."

Arthur than fussed with draping a loose blanket over him.

"I know it wasn't Ivan" Alfred remarked.

"..."

"If it was Ivan, you'd have said so."

"..."

"I had France. You had China. Italy had Germany. So that crosses three people off right there. That means there's China, Japan, France, Canada, Germany, and Russia left. It can't be Russia. I've been thinking about it. I doubt his government would've let him do that. And even if they did, Russia wouldn't have felt the need to be silent. He would've asked me while I was in the circle if I liked his present. France was hosting-that would've been bad form-regardless if his people are frustrated with me or not. China thought it was hilarious when I showed him-his face showed genuine surprise. And we both know how wooden China gets when he's acting. So it couldn't have been him. While Prussia would've done it-he's not here and it would've been an LED rave thing...and there's no way Germany wouldn't have checked his gift at least twice to make sure Gil didn't mess with it. So it's not him. The pacifier wasn't a weird candy treat-so it's not from Japan…"

Arthur's arms tightened and the man curled protectively around him-unbidden dim memories of stormy nights following scary stories edged forward.

Alfred surprised himself by not bothering to resist and pressing into the warm chest.

"Brothers" Arthur muttered darkly "They can be so...they can just be...so..."

Arthur's cell vibrated.

He immediately answered: "Yes?"

"Log into Skype" Francis ordered.

Wow. Dude sounded...scary. Was he like that during the Napoleonic Wars?

He tried to catch Arthur's eye, but found plenty of scary in that face too.

He carried Alfred over to the desk where his laptop was stationed.

He sat down with Alfred on his lap and quickly pulled his account up.

Soon, Alfred was staring at an irate Francis who had Mattie by the ear.

"Maintenant!"

Mathieu gave the webcam a flat look, "You didn't read the note."

The note?

"Between the currency?"

Alfred rushed over to his discarded pants. He rushed back with the folded slip in his hand.

After crawling back onto Arthur's lap, he read aloud.

" _Here: have fun buying more of your_ " Alfred's shoulders drooped "... _awful Power Ranger movies."_

Mathieu gave a nod.

"Wot?"

"...remember? He posted on Facebook... He...thinks Power Rangers is...for babies."

Mathieu looked rather smug and he felt indignation bubble: "But...but...it's...it's...not."

Mathieu raised an eyebrow.

"No," Arthur backed him up-staunchly asserting, "Mathieu is incorrect."

Alfred blinked. The shock in his system reminded him of when he'd had to introduce the Monroe Doctrine to his fellow nations (knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded considering his lack of military might to enforce it) and then England backed him up. Essentially announcing that the British were willing to shield him from attack as he ruled over the waters. Yeah, it was for mostly economic and political reasons...but still...

With Alfred on his hip, Arthur stiffly walked over to their suitcase, riffled through it and extracted a DVD.

Alfred laughed in delight, "Hey, you packed it! We can watch this after!"

Arthur nodded, sat back down, and held up the movie.

"Behold Y7." Arthur turned it over for the camera to catch. "Meaning that viewers seven and older may watch. And…" he set the movie down and pulled out his phone typing something "Ah yes...the BBFC agrees that Mighty Morphin Power Rangers is generally a PG. As in suitable for those around 8 as 7 is."

"Arth-"

"As you can clearly see; both rating systems do NOT advise babies to watch. The program is therefore not geared to that audience. Hence, Power Rangers is NOT for babies."

Alfred stared at the Briton in awe.

Arthur…took his side! Arthur took his side! Arthur was on his side!

"HA!" Alfred pointed at the screen "Reason defeats you and your left-handed malevolence, Witch!"

Arthur twisted his ear for that.

"Ow."

"Alfred" Arthur scolded.

Alfred sighed, "I know you're not a witch. I'm sorry."

"This is the point I'm trying to make. Alfred has no filter or restraint. He doesn't think about the consequences of what he says or does. Or what harm it can cause. When someone isn't conscientious, it's painful isn't it?"

Alfred blinked.

"Mathieu" Francis hissed. "When I said be assertive, I did NOT say bully votre petit frère."

"I'm trying to teach him a lesson to be more conscientious!"

"No" Arthur refuted "You're being a wanker."

Mathieu turned pink, "I'm-"

"A wanker" England finished.

"I was just trying to make a point. Remember when he gave China a _Life Alert_ as a housewarming gift?"

Arthur released a heavy breath through his nose, "Mathieu. That was after China spent a meeting talking about his ailments for two hours."

Alfred snickered, "It's **_still_** funny."

"No! It's insensi-"

"No" Arthur intervened "I'm calling Cheat on this, Mathieu. I'm a younger brother. With three, mind you, **_three_** older brothers. I know damn well, what bullying looks like. What you were attempting to do was humiliate your brother in front of his peers. Why?"

"I-"

"If you dare use the 'guise' that you were 'educating' him...I swear Mathieu I…I..." Arthur sucked in a deep breath through his teeth as his knuckles turned white.

Alfred stilled and his previous jubilation that Arthur was on his team flattened...because it meant he wasn't on Mattie's team right now.

He stared at his sullen brother-violet eyes glaring defiantly into the webcam and then at Arthur's hard emerald eyes staring back.

Neither were looking at him.

And they were so...angry.

Arthur's nostrils had flared and his shoulders had gone back-the way they did when he felt insulted.

And Mathieu looked pretty pissed off himself-leaning forward the way he did when he was about to make an aggressive move in hockey.

Alfred worried his lip between his teeth.

It was weird. For a moment, he got the impression that this argument didn't really have anything to do with him at all.

Very weird...because he was standing in the middle of it...and yet wasn't a part of it...like a chair in a room where two people were fighting.

"Apologize" Arthur demanded. "Now!"

No…

No, Alfred didn't want that.

Mathieu heaved a great sigh even as Francis shook him.

"...Alfred-"

"Just don't do it again!" Alfred interrupted and blurted "Or I'm allowed to do it back! China said so! Confucius supports me in this. Consider it your one time freebie. We won't share a room at the manor. Merry Christmas. Bye!"

He reached over and ended the chat.

Arthur blinked.

"Alfred."

"Don't force him..." his fingers twisted into Arthur's jacket "...I… ** _please_** don't force him..."

"Al-"

"I'm all about liberty, Father! Free will and free speech!" he argued desperately "If you force him against his will, it'll make me throw up. And I ate a lotta sweets tonight. It'll be baaad. Think of the poor hotel cleaning staff and what comes of low flow toilets versus vomit."

He could already feel his stomach beginning to churn at the thought.

Arthur decisively closed the laptop and picked the Power Rangers DVD up.

Best decision of the night.

Snuggled against Arthur with Hop in one hand and his phone in the other, he happily hummed "Go Go Power Rangers!" as the episode started up.

He was idly flipping through recent posts on Facebook when-

"Uh oh" Alfred mumbled, blue eyes wide, face pale.

"Wot?"

"Texas posted to Facebook."

He pointed at the screen.

It read: _Japan told Germany who told Italy who told South Italy who told Spain who told ME and now:_

Alfred clicked "play" on the attached video of an animated baby chick.

They shared a concerned look as they listened to the crass little song about 'whooping' ass.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : D


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Paracetamol (the company-not-the bottle-no medicine cabinet is complete without it and Luden's throat lozenges).I do not own Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. Or Dateline. Or Power Rangers. Nor am I the creator of the Pelican Crossing.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Arthur mopes. Alfred answers the phone. Spain gives advice. Canada is quietly ornery. Texas is Texas. Touches on the importance of accountability. The danger of humor not translating well from one culture to another. Tex's guide to curing jealousy. Treaty of Córdoba. Texas-centric chapter.

 **AN:** WOW. What an incredible amount of passionate feedback! Love it! LOVE it! _**LOVE**_ it! Danny, you hit the nail on the head. Yes. I completely agree with everyone that it was a flat out mean thing to do...and while I don't condone it by any means...I daresay just about everyone has done at least one mean spirited thing to a sibling...for nothing more than the evulz. Thank you for your reviews! And to TheQuietCoyote thank you-I enjoyed looking up and listening to 'Big Black Car.' I liked it (the song kinda stretches your heart without quite breaking it) and I'm flattered it reminded you of my writing.

: DDD

 **Chapter 18: Tough Love Tex**

* * *

Arthur had a fitful time trying to fall asleep-finally having to rely on Paracetamol Night.

His mind just kept racing over how he could've handled things differently. Should he have put his foot down sooner, the previous day? That morning at the airport? Should he have pulled Mathieu aside to have a chat the moment he felt something was unusual? Was this a recent problem? Or one that had been building up?

His musings continually dipped into wondering where he'd gone wrong in his parenting once again.

Why was Canada acting this way?

From what he could see, Alfred was (in this at least) fairly innocent. So what made him an acceptable target to harass?

Was it sibling rivalry? Or something more? And then there was the fact that Texas was now involving himself.

He'd tried calling Mathieu to warn him, but the boy was ignoring him. His efforts to dissuade Texas resulted in one eerie text back: _what will be, must be._

The best plan Arthur could come up with for the moment was: evacuate.

Rather like chess, when the only move he could make was to force the king to make a one step retreat and hope that the flight square would provide enough safety until he could formulate a new strategy.

He had to pull Alfred out of the line of fire.

Knowing the boy, he'd feel the need to insert himself into the middle of the conflict and if matters escalated into physical violence as Texas was suggesting they would…

His heart ached as he remembered Alfred coming home from "paintballing" and his "evaluation" covered in welts and bruises.

No.

He wouldn't allow it.

If they wanted to be uncivilized brutes. Fine. They were adults.

Alfred was a child.

At midnight, Arthur had alerted the hotel's front desk that they'd be checking out before noon.

A few short hours of rest later, he was awake again-brooding.

He glanced at the bed across from him. Alfred was sound asleep in a cocoon of blankets and pillows-face just partially visible.

Arthur had feared all the excitement would've triggered a round of night terrors, but Alfred seemed alright.

The child release a breathy sigh and nuzzled his face into Hop.

Departure was the best option; by now everyone likely knew about the previous night and would now consider it fair game to discuss it openly with Alfred. His government's attempts to maintain transparency usually resulted in everyone feeling qualified to comment on whatever actions they took...it bled into more personal criticisms as well...

And with the matter remaining...unresolved…

He just needed to get Alfred away from here.

Arthur sighed and rested the heels of his palms against his eyes; he'd definitely need to cross Mathieu off the list of suitable caretakers for Alfred in the future.

And he was still a bit nervous that he'd had to call Rhys at all and was still waiting for a response.

He'd originally intended Alistair to come over on Monday and watch his nephew-maybe even give a quick lesson in tarots...but…the way he'd exploded after a lack of sleep…and considering the night terrors Alfred still occasionally suffered from…

No.

Arthur didn't want the Scotsman venting any of his frustrations at Alfred. Alfred couldn't help it. He was recovering from PTSD dammit and he didn't need anyone exacerbating it.

Naturally, allowing Reilley full reign was out of the question. He would let Alfred do whatever he wanted without any interference. If he wanted to eat ice cream for breakfast while dancing on a table, there'd be no discipline from him. Alfred needed some sort of structure-someone had to be a reasonable authority figure when the child wavered between behaving responsibly or acting out on an impulse .

God, he'd really had high hopes that Mathieu would have stepped up as a good role model. (Heaven knew he likely couldn't depend on Jett.) Canada was usually so level headed and had gotten along reasonably well with Australia and Hong Kong when they were small-often playing games and reading to them.

He'd thought...well...he'd thought wrong.

Arthur exhaled.

He'd thought wrong.

He needed to accept that.

Perhaps…he needed to adjust his own view while he was at it.

Yes, he wanted the children to all get along. To be close and give one another comfort and support. To partake in fun activities and make happy memories.

God, wasn't that the anguished wish of every parent? He thought sardonically.

Mother had wanted that too.

Look how well that turned out…

He sighed.

He needed to be realistic...to...accept and allow that they might not be the best of friends...that they might not want to spend every moment together...

But he wouldn't tolerate cruelty!

He felt his anger flare up again at Canada's "gift"...deliberately trying to exploit a vulnerable spot.

Absolutely not.

No, he'd need to make it clear that behavior like that was unacceptable. And he better not catch a whiff of it during their holiday retreat. He already had Sealand on his hands, he didn't need anyone else bullying America.

To think he'd made it known to Mathieu that with Alfred...with Alfred…

" _See, that was always the key to him. He's too stubborn to force him to do anything. No, you've got to embarrass him."_

He felt betrayed. He'd told Mathieu that in confidence-He'd assumed he was holding a conversation with a mature, grown up Mathieu who wouldn't misuse the information.

That he'd dare to use humiliation…

Public humiliation…

Supposedly as a "tool" to try and tailor Alfred's behavior to his own preferences. That was not a tactic to employ lightly. If it was to be used at all it was a last resort! And only when he was doing something abjectly mean or highly dangerous! And even still!

Yes, Arthur had been known to scoff and tease the American at various meetings-Alfred practically invited it with some of his more absurd or inane ideas...but…

But...that was before…he realized he was still dealing with a child...

And even then...whenever he realized he'd been too harsh, he was swift to try and lighten the mood-buoy the boy's spirit back up.

A melancholy America was depressing to behold.

Arthur turned onto his side-staring vacantly at the open DVD case on Alfred's side of the bedside table.

" _He...thinks Power Rangers is...for babies...but...but...it's...it's...not."_

The way his little voice had cracked while saying that.

Arthur breathed heavily-air hissing through his teeth.

In the past, he'd read late into the night, about the phenomena of mentally regressing when amidst one's siblings.

You fell back into habits from the time when you were together. He'd always studied it in context to himself and his brothers...he hadn't thought to apply it to any of his former territories' relationships with one another.

In his own case, he found he always became more easily vexed when they were around and prone to being physically aggressive (to his own shame).

But…

If Mathieu was "regressing"...

Why was it taking a form he was so unused to?

Usually when Mathieu was upset as a child, he'd come and complain or he'd cuddle in a corner with his polar bear.

He couldn't recall a single time where Mathieu had been so blatantly malicious.

He blinked; feeling unease drip into his stomach.

" _You always take his side!" Little Alfred yelled. "Tha's not fair."_

 _The Canadian child sniffled something in French, as he sat on the ground rubbing his eyes and looking so very pitiful that Arthur immediately picked him up to cradle in his arms._

 _Alfred immediately protested, "He's not huwt. He's not huwt. He's NOT. Daddy-"_

" _That's enough" he'd finally snapped removing Alfred's fist from his father's trouser with firm fingers. "I told you no horseplay."_

" _But-"_

" _And you willfully disobey-"_

" _But-"_

" _No."_

" _D-daddy cawwy me too. Cawwy me too pwease."_

" _No; misbehaving ruffians don't get to be carried."_

" _Hmph. Gimme your hand then."_

" _No, Alfred" he sighed "You can walk along yourself."_

" _Well then!" the child spat bitterly "I'll hold my own hand! I'm better company anyway. I care about the twuth!"_

 _With that the child clapped his hands together and held them to his chest-like he was going to pray._

 _He was surly for the rest of the day and had stubbornly stayed in the corner of the room in the rocking chair while Arthur sat on the bed to read them their bedtime story...it would be the first time he refused a goodnight kiss and hug._

Arthur fiddled restlessly with the bedcovers as he amended his previous thought: he couldn't recall a single time where he'd _caught_ Mathieu being blatantly malicious.

How many times had he presided over the tail end of arguments and altercations and ruled in favor of Mathieu? When had he been right? When had he been wrong?

Damnation.

He stood up and crossed over to Alfred's bed perching on the end and carefully rearranging the blankets to lie more smoothly. Didn't want him getting smothered in there. One little hand brushed his as he worked and curled its fingers around his. The child tugged it close-resting his face against it.

Who could he trust to watch over Alfred and not abuse the situation?

He was down to Wales, Lithuania, and Belgium (because she owed him a favor). Though...it'd be odd to pretend to America that she was simply in the neighborhood and wanted to spend the day with him.

Also, it would be awfully short notice and at this time of year both Lithuania and Belgium usually participated in various fund raisers. He was certain Lithuania would come if Arthur made mention of how difficult the transition from adult to child was going for Alfred.

But...Alfred would then interpret Lithuania's concern as pity.

 _Please accept Rhys,_ he thought desperately, _your usual degree of pitilessness combined with your sense of fairness would make you a suitable overseer._

 _It could also improve your standing with Alfred once you prove that you're "fair" rather than "cold."_

As if hearing his mental plea; his phone vibrated with a text.

He carefully reached over to grab it without upsetting Alfred's hold on him.

 _Check your email_

 _-Rhys_

Arthur sighed and very gently untangled himself-heart bruising when there was a small whimper.

He pressed a kiss to the child's cheek as consolation and tucked him in tightly.

Resolutely, he made it over to his laptop and opened the attachment his brother sent.

Paperwork!?

At least thirty sheets of paperwork in size 8 font!

From whether Alfred had food or seasonal allergies, to what his blood type was, to if he had any illnesses recent or chronic in the past fifty years, to what the acceptable amount of hours spent watching the telly was, to regular mealtimes and favorite foods, to suggested bedtimes and techniques that worked best with him, to time allotted for governmental work, to what medicine to use and numbers to contact in case of emergency, to time slated for magic lessons and how far progressed Alfred was in the subject matter, to what his favorite colors, toys, and animals were.

* * *

Alfred was playing balance beam with a cement garden planter-placing one foot carefully in front of the other on the thin edge-some part of him waiting for Arthur to reach over, grab his hand, and tug him off.

Because gentlemen needed to walk along the pavement properly.

The pedestrian crossing wasn't safe to use yet. Usually, Arthur's gaze would focus intensely on it-waiting

for it to turn. The gaggle of people waiting with them were all glaring at it-willing it to hurry up already.

PEdestrian LIght CONtrolled Crossing.

Pelican crossing.

Pelican.

Alfred chortled to himself at the funny image that conjured in his head-like if he had to hop on the backs of pelicans to get across a road.

He looked over at Arthur intending to share, but the man was busy staring up at the sky with a rather melancholy expression.

Arthur was so mopey today.

At first, he was tempted to jump off the planter with a "For Bunker Hill!" and aim for his head like a spider monkey jumping from one tree to the next.

Because yelling at Alfred usually snapped his Dad out of whatever weird funk he was in…

But…

Alfred didn't really feel like being scolded or being immature today.

His spirit was still sagging a bit...like a flag that couldn't quite catch a good breeze.

" _...you need to give yourself a moment to be upset..."_

 _"...I'm here…shhh luv...you just a need a moment. And that's alright."_

He felt his throat start to close up. His vision started to blur.

Dammit.

Sometimes, Arthur could just be so nice to him it...hurt…

No. Don't think about it anymore-move on already, he warned himself sternly. Move on or you'll get stuck, and once you're stuck you'll be a wheel sunk in mud and someone else will have to dig you out.

Arthur sighed and shifted his weight to his left foot.

Arthur!

Right...right, he needed to focus his efforts on Arthur.

What better way could he say thank you than that?

"Are you worried about your meeting on Monday?"

Arthur startled to attention.

"I saw it on the calendar in the kitchen before we left" Alfred proclaimed proudly. See? He could occasionally look out from the perimeter of his own bubble.

"...a bit…"

"...you'll do good. You-you're good at that stuff...professional."

Arthur blinked and gave him a small smile and Alfred grinned back-accepting the hand that reached up to guide him as he jumped down to the sidewalk.

He offered to pull the luggage for Arthur as they headed to the parking garage, but the man waved his assistance away.

He was still surprised they'd left the hotel so early. Arthur had simply remarked that morning that something had come up and he needed to return at once. He apologized twice for the inconvenience.

It was probably just as well.

He'd texted Texas a few times to try and dissuade him from his current quest...but that plane had long since departed. Tex's status had a smiling emoticon with sunglasses and the phrase: witch hunting.

He never shoulda shared that whole left handed witchery joke.

He wished his bro could just drop it but...he'd learned from past experience that when Texas wanted to do things his way-stand back.

When he wanted to caulk and float the wagon across the river rather than take the long way round through the mountains, you let him.

Otherwise, he'd hog tie you. And crossing a river in a flimsy wagon all tied up was really scary.

Alfred didn't bother trying Canada's phone...if he wouldn't answer for Arthur, he definitely wouldn't for him.

He watched idly as Arthur packed their things into his car's trunk.

Maybe it was good they'd be out of the country cuz it was gonna be a train wreck…

He hoped Francis had good house insurance.

Alfred tried not to get depressed on the quiet drive to Arthur's home. It was bad enough being in a booster seat, but seeing Arthur so solemn was bothering him.

One small eternity of instrumental music later, they parked in the old man's garage.

"Come on, love. It's nearly lunch time."

It was a shock to enter Arthur's kitchen and find some dude standing in it.

His breath caught in his chest and he glanced around for a makeshift weapon to protect them.

"Ah, Charles" Arthur nodded "Forgive me, I should've sent word that your services weren't necessary today."

Alfred sighed in relief-Arthur knew the guy. Good.

The man, in his early forties, hastily turned around and moved away from the counter-where it became clear that he'd been petting Americat who immediately changed loyalties when he spotted who was standing a few feet away.

Alfred laughed as the cat jumped down and charged him. He picked the feline up for a cuddle, "I saw what you were doing there. Taking affection from the other side. Shoulda named you Benedict Arnold, ya little turncoat."

Arthur stiffened slightly but shook his head and came over to rest his hands on Alfred's shoulders.

"I daresay you two haven't met as of yet. Charles, this is my son Alfred. Alfred, say hello."

The man was so prim and proper in his suit and tie-the only sign of him being a housekeeper, rather than like an accountant or something, was the plain grey apron tied around his waist.

"Alfred, put the cat down and say hello."

He set Americat down, but now his hands were covered in cat hair-he hastily tried to wipe them off.

"Um...er..."

Charles surprised him by kneeling down, "Hello young Master Alfred, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"H-h-hi…"

"I trust you didn't have too many difficulties despite the slight expansion of your roster of duties" Arthur remarked.

The man stood back up "No, not many. Though...I was a bit concerned there might be a bit of an infestation."

Arthur's expression turned serious.

Alfred made a face.

Gross.

Like bugs? Or rats? Or mold?

"Yes; I keep finding windows undone…scissors in the garden, little odd things."

Arthur frowned, "Is that so?"

Were the latches uberly old or were punk teens up to something?

"I've been sprinkling ground up iron on the aforementioned windows. As a warning of displeasure. I didn't want to mark them all and trap whatever may be inside if it was still in."

Arthur frowned.

Alfred gasped.

It? IT? WTF?!

What were they talking about here?

Had one of the ghosts followed him? He felt a shiver dance along his spine.

"Show me" Arthur order.

The man nodded and began to lead them upstairs.

Funny, how scary stairs could get when something malevolent could be hanging out on the floor up.

Alfred reluctantly tagged along on Arthur's heels and barely swallowed a 'hallelujah' when the telephone rang.

"I'll grab it!" Alfred announced-figuring he could ask Arthur about the "infestation" later, in the safety of the cheery kitchen. Ya know, where he could decide if he ever wanted to climb the stairs again.

"Thank you dear" Arthur replied distractedly "There's a notepad on the counter if you need to write something down."

"Kay."

"Be polite!"

He dashed to the kitchen pushing a chair into place with a loud screech and clambering atop of it.

"Hello, Arthur Kirkland's residence may I take a message?"

" _Hello, inform Arthur that my flight should arrive by six and I should be at the house by seven on Sunday-"_

"Excuse me Sir, who may I ask is calling?"

" _...it's Rhys."_

"Oh!" Crap. "Strawber-uh-Rhys. Geez. I-I dunno why it's so hard for me to peg your voice." Or your face. "Sorry." Or anything. 'cept that I don't really like you. "I mean it..I...I'm not trying to-to-"

' _He doesn't think about the consequences of what he says or does...when someone isn't conscientious, it's painful isn't it?'_

Alfred tapped the pen against the notepad, _I don't even know why I don't like you, Rhys,_ Alfred realized despairingly. _How unfair and unheroic couldja get?_ He'd already cowered at the thought of ghost investigating with Arthur and Charles and backed out. The least he could do was not be a jerk over the phone.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Now he was all flustered.

" _...inform Arthur that I should be at the house by-"_

"Seven on Sunday. Yes. D-does he already have your number? In case he needs to call you back. Or shall I write it dow-"

" _Of course he has my...Alfred, do you have my number?"_

Dude hated him back...o' course he didn't.

" _Uh...um...no…."_

"Very well, listen closely."

He jotted the number down carefully and the man made him read it back twice.

" _Good. Now save that to your phone alright? And send me a text so I can add you into my contacts as well."_

Alfred blinked "...kay."

" _Very well then I-"_

"Hey Rhys?!"

" _Yes."_

"W-why are you coming on Monday? Are you helping with Arthur's meeting?"

" _No. I'm going to guide you through a Magic Lesson."_

"Oh?" he squeaked-trying and failing to feign disinterest.

" _I don't trust your father to cover this particular subject adequately."_

"O-oh…"

Oh noes, he was a hard-ass teacher-he could sense it!

" _Very well then I'll see you Sunday, be prepared-"_

"Wait Rhys!"

" _Yes?"_

"...um...um…I…."

" _Yes?"_

"W-will I still get Magic Lessons when we all go to Kirkland Manor?"

" _Of course. We must prepare you for Yule. What makes you ask that?"_

"I just...I didn't know if there will be time...with...with all of us...being there."

" _We'll likely rotate between the four of us. You'll get a better balance that way. And if one...or three of us are terrible, you have the consolation of knowing that I will ensure your education is acceptable."_

Alfred blinked. Did he just...joke...with him?

" _Alfred...are you there?"_

"...yeah...I just...you know I'm...not good...right…?"

" _Not trained. And yes, I'm aware."_

"Okay. Okay. Yes. I'll...I'll see you on...on Sunday. G'bye."

" _Goodbye."_

It felt like it took forever for the two Englishmen to descend the stairs.

He was relieved to see that neither were hurt and Arthur didn't look terribly concerned about the "infestation."

He chuckled at Alfred's worried face-tapping his nose, "Don't worry pet; a few sprites got in through the attic, I think. I'll leave out a few charms and that should be the end of it."

After Charles left, Alfred watched Arthur buzz about the kitchen making tea.

Guess, sprites weren't a big deal then. Maybe they were the cause of the creepy sounds at night?

Alfred slid off the chair to do his part-setting the table and taking out sandwich supplies-contemplating how best to broach the topic without sounding like a wuss.

While Arthur paused to give Americat a brief scratch behind the ear, he asked "So then, who called dear? Someone from my office?"

"Rhys."

Arthur immediately straightened up.

"He said he'll be here tomorrow at seven o' clock."

* * *

Texas stopped to adjust the guitar on his back before grabbing the handle of his large red, white, and blue suitcase. Alfred had gotten it for him for his birthday a few years back. Seeing his state flag always put him in a good mood.

Which was important, because having to repeatedly take his hat, and buckled belt, and boots, and watch, and bolo tie, and glasses, and cuff links, and money clip off to pass through all the security checkpoints could've been really irritating.

But every time he saw his luggage, it reminded him of who he was doing this for.

Though...after the fourth time, he'd remarked to a female staffer as she waved her metal detector wand over him that maybe he should've just traveled in his underwear and a poncho...which got him a stern talking to. Unfortunately, their English wasn't quite as good as internet users boast and totally misunderstood his brand of humor. What was actually thinly veiled irritation (because he went through two of these checkpoints in the last fifteen minutes and hadn't magically acquired anything dangerous in that time) was incorrectly interpreted as lewd flirting.

To which he'd laughed that with looks like his, he never had to bother with that. Which apparently was also the wrong thing to say, but a call to the American Embassy sorted it out.

He carefully cradled Alfred's violin-the instrument was necessary for _Operation: Curb-stomp Gloom._

But first, he had to straighten out things with Matt.

Spain had readily given him France's address but advised him to "wear gloves."

" _Papi," he sighed into the phone "This ain't gonna end up on Dateline. Don't worry."_

" _Of course Papi's going to worry. That's Paris and you will be an obvious tourist...You're wearing your hat...aren't you?"_

" _..."_

" _It will be easy for the police to find you. Plus, even if you do settle things peacefully. There are lots of pickpockets there, mijo. They will know you are American. Are you sure you don't want Papi to meet you there? I can show you how to catch the wrist and twist-"_

" _I'm sure."_

" _...Call me. Let me know how it goes. Te quiero mi cactus."_

" _Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Lord only knows why."_

" _Watch out for muggers! ¡Besos!"_

Texas approached the residence just in time to see Francis leaving it.

"Excuse me! I need to talk with my brother, Sir. It's important."

Francis paused-looking rather haggard. His unkempt hair and solemn expression made him look older than he had in previous meetings where he'd been lively and flirty and inappropriate. Like when he'd mentioned that Tex had gotten more than just Spain's hair, but his tush too.

Like any son ever wanted to hear that.

Francis unlocked the door for him and called something in French-presumably to Mathieu.

He sighed and then addressed Texas, "I'm going to ze store, will you be joining us for-"

"Thank ya kindly, but I'll be movin' along once I said my piece."

France gave a nod, deliberated for a moment and then offered very in a low voice, "Mathieu is...being difficult..."

"Dealing with ornery is my specialty."

The Frenchman gave a wry smile as he walked away, "Bonne chance."

Texas closed and bolted the door behind him and looked around.

So-phist-o-mic-ated.

Lots of breakable figurines and oil paintings and...ruffled drapes.

Yup.

Pansy, snobby, stuff.

He left his suitcase and both instruments by the door, since he wouldn't be here too long.

He walked over into the parlor room where Mathieu was curled up on an ornate couch (that didn't look all that comfortable) with a book.

"Howdy" he tipped his hat.

Maybe he wasn't a huge lover of literature the way Al was but the book was upside down. And he doubted it was for sport. And his glasses were on the table.

Texas squinted and cocked his head.

Les Misérables.

Less Miserable? As in "Be Less Miserable?" Seemed appropriate.

"Come to remark on what an insensitive hypocrite I am?" Mathieu stared darkly at the closed front door.

Well whaddya know? Ol' Francey pants manned up and called Matt out on that. From his own interactions with Canada he'd found that his brother talked a big game about being empathetic and understanding...but when it got right down to it...it made it about a hundred times worse when he did something mean. Cuz when he did somethin' mean spirited...he _**meant**_ to do it.

He still hadn't apologized for bringing up Tex's Confederate past in like...the worst way possible. His neck still stung in remembrance.

Still, at least Tex could cross that portion of his speech out-it was covered already.

"Nope. I came here for two reasons: for Al, and for you. I'll start with you."

"..."

He sat down on the other end of the couch (He was right-the cushions were hard and flat), "I get it. I do. I saw you at Thanksgiving Matt. You were green. Greener than the grass you thought you saw on the other side o' the fence. And sad fact is, if anyone knows how that feels...it's me."

"…"

"Romano. I...I hated Romano...Romano was the one I blamed for everything. Romano was the reason Spain and I weren't close. Romano was the reason Spain kept leaving because the twerp needed protection. Romano was the favorite. Romano, Romano, Romano. Spain talked and wrote and reminisced...I _**hated**_ that guy. Like, he was the one I blamed for everything. I stubbed my toe? There's a drought? My horse bucked me? Romano's fault. Never even friggin' met him. Still his fault."

Canada was staring at a wall-fingers clutching at the book in his lap.

"Mexico didn't help. She was next in the line of favorites and knew it. Teased me all the goddamn time and I...when she pinched and pushed and slapped and I wasn't supposed to fight back with the same actions...cuz she was a girl...it was so...frustrating. It's frustrating when you can't vent at them. Then it just builds. I had to get creative, put dye in her shampoos. Mud inside her slippers. That sort of stuff. Stuff that got me into trouble with Papi."

He gauged Mathieu's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

He highly suspected that part of what was adding to Matt's distress was the fact that, Alfred's new size had changed their dynamic. And he really was just frustrated with that because he didn't know how the hell to accept it.

Texas felt it profoundly. Stuff he used to be able to do like giving Al a playful shove, or punch to the shoulder-was no longer possible. If they did wrestle over the T.V. remote control, he had to be careful. And that was just little stuff.

Canada had a tendency to verbally fight with Al since they were children. Which was probably a harder habit to break.

For Tex it was easy seeing their size difference and knowing flat out that some stuff, was just a "no go" now. He was personally kinda glad that Al was gonna be at Arthur's for Christmas. Cuz it was gonna be a pain in the ass breaking it to his little bro that he didn't want him on the roof stringing up Christmas lights for the time being.

In Canada's case it wasn't so cut and dry.

Because mind wise-Alfred was the same Alfred, Matt had known since they were colonies. He talked and reasoned and snarked like he always did. Except that instead of "being childish and somewhat immature" he was...acting his age. Yup, those "obnoxious" moments were really his age just peeking through to say hello.

Canada had aged on by him.

Which meant, Alfred was going to carry on as he always did, but now Canada was gonna have to check himself during an argument. There were gonna be certain topics and teasing that would land below the proverbial belt.

Because while there were certain insults a nineteen year old could get away with spitting at his seventeen year old brother. A nineteen year old versus a seven year old?

No. Just. No.

Texas took a breath and continued "Then I went through this muy, muy, embarrassing 'Notice Me' phase. Look how well I can rope? Look how well I can ride a horse? Learned a bunch of instruments and dances. Memorized stupid Spanish royalty lines and poetry.

It was never enough. I had the raw end of the deal in everything. Even as a nation. I was the buffer state under Spain's rule and then under Mexico's. They didn't want to exhaust resources and aid to help develop my land and protect my people from raids. Nah, they just wanted to tax the hell outta me to fund their own little projects. Spain didn't even visit me after I "changed ownership" with the Treaty of Córdoba to speak.

And that's when the hate grew...and I hated Spain too. It was his fault I was up the creek without a paddle. I was desperate for an ally.."

Canada's eyes shifted to him, "...and then you met _wonderful_ Alfred."

"Yup. And I hated him too."

Canada's eyebrows shot up and sat back-looking affronted.

Texas bit a smile. Funny, how his brother could flip flop so easily-less than a breath ago he'd been scoffing at Alfred himself.

The Texan shrugged, "I was so jealous of him being powerful enough to lose settlers as they came my way for land opportunities and not even being upset. Then he went and forgot about our first meeting-meaning I was forgettable-yeah, that felt good on my ego. And then...not being the way I remembered him...in Los Adaes in 1812...when I finally dragged my butt 'cross the country to visit him in Virginia in 1817. I...I saw why he kept doing trade agreements by mail...and wouldn't meet with me."

He had Matt's full attention now.

"You know. And I know...that Alfred is vain."

Matt muttered a quiet, "Yes."

"How he looks, means a whole damn lot to him."

Matt reluctantly nodded-shifting a bit guiltily. Because how he looked now was a huge soft spot...and Matt had attacked it viciously. Good. There was some remorse there...under the resentment.

Time to poke at it.

"He pretty much had half his face shot off" Texas remarked candidly.

Canada winced.

"-and was pretty sore about it…I asked him whose fault it was."

Canada closed his eyes-tensing.

"I figured I had an easy way of making allies. Nothing can bond men like bitching about life; he could start ragging on you and England and his eye and the White House and I could start bagging about Spain and Mexico and the Battle of Medina and the Plan of Iguala."

Violet eyes stared sharply at him-part indignant, part horrified, part….guilty.

"He surprised me when he said it was his own fault...and he left it at that."

A hollow look entered his older brother's eyes then.

 _Yup. That's right. Baby brother didn't throw you under the bus. And believe you me, I gave him plenty of opportunities to do so._

"Research on my part, and drunken ramblings on Al's, got me nearer to the truth. And then I found I admired _**this**_ him even more than shining-brilliant-unshot-1812-him."

"And you weren't jealous anymore" Canada mumbled-drumming his fingers.

"Nope. I couldn't be. He was out there strugglin' with his own set of problems all by himself the whole damn time...and he wasn't even lookin' for a scapegoat. And I came to the unhappy conclusion that the jackass in the situation...was me. I blamed everybody but me for my hardships."

Mathieu's eyebrows twitched-expression hardening.

 _Come on now, Matt. This is your come to Jesus moment._

"Ya know how hard it is to keep that up-blamin' everybody for everything when you're bunking for the winter with someone who didn't have anything except himself and his rickety shack and his closet of ratty old uniforms? It's real hard. And then he started volunteering for reconnaissance missions because he felt he was being slothful-waiting in his shack to heal up. One eye! One! Would've been irresponsible to let him go off by himself. And then there were times he could be such a stick in the mud-someone had to teach him cards. And he always had such impossible standards for himself-God, he already had his greatest enemy in himself."

Mathieu went still at that.

 _Yeah, Matt. I don't need you making that situation worse._

"I was on one side of the extreme and he was on the other. And when I realized that, I got over myself and I headed to the middle. Some of the trouble I got into was on my own head, and some of it was caused by others, and some of it was just… plain ol' rotten luck. Sooo...Yeah….I like to think I've made it to the middle...and I'd like it a lot if you and Al could make it here too. I ain't gonna beat around the bush. I could really use a hand dragging Al over. It's gonna take a two man team at least."

"Why...are you here?" Mathieu fiddled with his book, before tossing it onto the coffee table.

"I told you. I'm here for you and for Al. I never gave you a real chance...and I feel bad about that now. I distrusted you and England for a lot...but you proved yourselves in October. I..I saw how you tore off after Osha for blood...for Al. You care about him a lot."

"I love him" Mathieu clarified coldly. "He's my brother! It's just...just…everyone keeps..."

"Good. You love him, you give him a hand, he needs one right now. And no, he ain't gonna ask for it."

"Everyone is offering-"

"No. Everyone's feeling sorry for him right now. And that's a kick in the teeth for someone like Al and you know it. He needs support. Not pity. I see him falling into the same funk that he was in after 1812. Only this is gonna be harder for him. I can tell already. Last time, he just needed to heal up. This time...this time... his body...it's… a total change. This ain't an injury delay to endure...he's gonna have to find a whole new normal. "

"...it just feels like everything is revolving around him...lately..."

"He ain't the Sun, Matt. Neither was Romano. World isn't revolving around them. It just feels that way cuz you're jealous."

"And how do you suppose I stop feeling this way?...since you're such an expert?" he muttered quietly.

"You can start by looking me in the eye and being sincere."

Mathieu startled and stared at his Southern brother.

"Good start" Texas nodded.

Violet eyes narrowed.

"Even better. Much better than being fake nicey nice, isn't it?"

"What...do you suppose I do?"

"Say it."

"..."

"Come on now, Canada. I. Get. Jealous. Sometimes. Come on, say it with me."

"..."

"Ma-"

"I...get jealous sometimes. And is that it?" Mathieu scoffed "I'm just supposed to repeat that to my-"

"Uh, you could lemme finish. I get jealous sometimes, and that's okay cuz I'm a person...and I ain't perfect. What's not okay is when I let that jealousy control me and I stop being me...and become a jealous jackass. Got that?"

Canada went quiet...but nodded.

"Good. Cuz it's kinda silly. Since I don't need others to validate my worth. What I think about me is what's most important. And if I'm doin' and actin' in ways I ain't proud. Then I need to do somethin' about that. I matter, no matter what...and if other people are havin' trouble realizing how great I am-well they can just fu-"

"Tex!?"

"-off. Okay," Texas pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket. "I wrote that last part out for you. Cuz it might be hard to memorize all that in one go. Al's pretty good at memorizing lines. But I'm not. And I wasn't sure which one of us, you take after in that."

Mathieu accepted it, glancing over the lines and then refolding it and placing it in his pocket.

The Canadian sighed, ran a hand through his hair, "...Hey...Alfred said...he told me...you like whiskey. I've got some…"

"Oooh. Yes. But I gotta take a raincheck. I've got a flight in a little more than an hour and I'm not the best international traveller even when I'm sober."

"...right…"

"Soooo" Texas tapped his feet "I know I blabbered on a lot just now...and now I'm gettin' ready to go but...I want you to know, you can call me, text me, or whatever. We...we are brothers. And we've already survived wendigo, a car crash, and Denny's together. I think we might have a chance."

The hardest part with stuff like this was that you couldn't force a sincere apology.

If and when Mathieu apologized to Alfred was his own business. Twisting his arm wasn't gonna do it. He was the thinking type. He needed his thoughts to bring him to it. And hopefully now that wheel was rolling…

When Matt stopped feeling so insecure about himself, he'd be able to see things more clearly and realize he was in the wrong...and fix it.

He stood up and stretched, "I just wanted you to know-you're not the only one who's had those kinds of feelings before."

Mathieu stood up too.

"...you came all this way to deliver me this note?"

"Yup. I came to deliver you that….and _**this**_."

He reared his fist back and punched.

Knock out.

He'd been hitting the punching bag since his embarrassing sparring match with England months ago in the One-Eyed Wench pub.

He shook his hand out, picked Mathieu up, and set him carefully on the couch-tucking a blanket around him.

He scribbled a quick note and set it on top of the book:

 _Sorry Big Bro,_

 _I warned ya & Italy told me Al bawled his eyes out. I'm a man of my word._

 _Tough Love,_

 _Tex_

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll)'s _Alice in Wonderland_. Or Highlander's infamous quote: "There can only be one!" Or _Rock Band._ Or _Guitar Hero._ Or _Bop It!_ Or _Sir Gawain...etc._ Or the Kensington Gardens. Or Herman Melville's _Moby Dick_. Or Charles Dickens' _Nicholas Nickleby_. Or _Ninja Warrior UK._ Or the _Lone Ranger._

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Stratocaster or Strat: a type of electric guitar. Spelling/Grammar battle: Math vs. Maths. Flashbacks. Guitarist egos. Fluff. Feels. Fish fingers.

 **AN:** Yeah, I'd probably put Texas as 18. Though when he grows his beard out, he passes for much older-which is how he still gets away with hanging out in bars (despite policy changes in the 1980s regarding active servicemen drinking in the states. Drinking age for U.S. soldiers depends on whether they're on base, in country, out of country, whether the base is located near countries/counties where the age limit is lower, etc. It's hilariously complicated :p). Headcanon: Yes; I see Mathieu, Texas, Alfred, and Molossia as being Native American/European (Scandinavian, Spanish, English, and Chinese respectively). Though, Alfred rejects his roots-insisting he's 112% American.

Thank you so much for your reviews! Wow! We made it past 700! XD

 **Chapter 19: Teeny Meanie Weenies**

* * *

Alfred was surprised when Arthur, who seemed so drained, insisted on them going out once more.

"I say we ought to go out and entertain ourselves a bit before we retire for the day. Don't you think?"

'Entertain' was the operative word there.

To England, apparently it was fun to go...furniture shopping.

"Why do this now?" Alfred asked as Arthur gently tugged him along-letting the fingers of his free hand brush lightly against different furniture pieces.

"Better to do so now while I still have energy, rather than later when I'm knackered and any chair will do."

Alfred couldn't argue that, but he was a little frustrated that Arthur kept gravitating toward simple pieces.

Arthur needed luxury! Luxury always seemed to make the old man feel better. He thought of all the intricately carved four posters and wardrobes and tables in the man's house. It seemed like each one had a story- _'Oh yes, ordered that one. Came from Bath'_ or _'I was travelling through Prague with the Earl of...'_

"What about that one? It's got lots of cupholders" Alfred asserted. Flashy and functional.

Arthur raised a large bushy eyebrow in bafflement.

Alfred's cheeks puffed, he'd thought the connection was obvious, "Ya know….for all your tea!"

"How many cups do you think I drink at a time?" Arthur inquired-lips quirking.

"..."

"Hm?"

Alfred tried to bite his lip to keep from smiling, but couldn't manage it, "...Alice in Wonderland."

"Alice in Wonderland?!"

"Mad Hatter Tea Party!" Alfred answered shrilly.

"Mad Hatter?!" Arthur gasped in mock offense "You think I'm a Mad Hatter, hm? I'll show you a Mad Hatter!"

Alfred could barely keep himself standing after Arthur's tickle attack subsided.

"Indeed. That's what you get, you cheeky imp!" Arthur declared-straightening his outfit and then Alfred's.

There was no bite in the man's tone and Alfred felt his cheeks begin to ache from smiling so much.

Arthur wasn't even concerned with the glares coming their way from various sales associates.

Alfred swung happily from Arthur's arm as they moved along-pointing at different models and hearing various complaints-each more ridiculous than the last: _"Oh no, that one reminds me of an inn in Yorkshire. Terrible service," "Heavens no boy, it's green. It'll remind me of that blasted frog, I'll never have a moment's peace with it lurking in the room_ ," and _"that one's enormous and has too much cushion-I'll sit down and sink...and you'll be swallowed up by it."_

"What about that one?" Alfred asked "That one is a recliner! Or maybe that one? That other one gives massages. Do you want a compartment for remotes?"

He released the man's hand to barrel over to an expensive chair, "Oooh! This one has a charger for your ph-Dad?"

He turned around to find Arthur had settled into a relatively simple wingback rocking chair.

"But that one's so simple" Alfred mumbled as he drew near. "Don't you want the best?"

"What makes you so certain, this one isn't?" Arthur retorted.

Simple was boring! Or cheap. Or uncreative.

Or...undesirable…

Or...stupid...

When people labeled you "simple," they snickered behind their hands as you passed.

"Come come," Arthur remarked "A second opinion is in order."

Alfred slowly clambered on.

Surprisingly, it was large enough that Alfred could sit right beside Arthur and be comfortably squished.

Being tucked under Arthur's arm, resting his head on the older man's chest, and listening to his heartbeat...really took him back.

Especially, when Arthur started rocking the chair.

Hazy half forgotten simple nights hovered at the back of his mind; when wind battered at the newly set windows of their quaint home…

Alfred, unused to the sound, had whimpered-certain that terrible things were trying to claw their way in.

" _Hushabye, my Sweetling. You need not fear" the man assured as he rocked the chair._

" _Monstwers" he sniffled into the man's cotton nightshirt. "Going to dwag me away into the night."_

" _Hmm, I think not" the man scoffed, resting a hand on Alfred's head and guiding it to rest under his chin._

" _But-I hear them-"_

" _Why, to drag you away, they'd have to defeat me, my dear boy. And I am no slouch when it comes to the sword."_

" _Like Gawain?"_

" _Yes, Sweet. Like Gawain. Though I wouldn't flinch if-"_

" _Y-you will pwotect me fwom monsters?" Alfred asked-pulling away to look the man in the eye-it was a very serious task to undertake._

" _I promise you Alfred," The vow was simple, short, sincere._

" _You pwomise?"_

 _The man gazed down at him with a gentle expression._

" _No monster will ever harm you...I will never allow it."_

Alfred glanced up just as Arthur glanced down.

 _And you didn't._

Maybe his old man had broken quite a few promises to him over the years...but that one he kept.

It was a simple one...that turned out to have huge consequences.

 _Foolish Old Man...No one would've thought less of you if you'd run…What with wendigo and vengeful plots and dark magic and doom...but...you never even considered..._

"Well then?"

"S'nice."

"Then it's settled. We both agree; this one will be a marvelous addition to-"

Alright…

Alfred snuggled deeper into Arthur's side and was rewarded with an affectionate squeeze.

...Maybe simple could be good too.

Something to seek and be proud of and safekeep again..if it meant he could have simple moments like this back.

* * *

Arthur struggled to keep his face from giving him way. He risked a side glance to the child. Goodness, he really had no idea!

While Arthur made his transaction, the boy had been in his own little world examining large corded tassels, which worked out wondrously.

The boy wouldn't realize until January that Arthur had purposely ordered two; one to have for Kirkland Manor and the other for Kirkland Hall.

He'd made his intentions known to Hawaii last week, who immediately agreed to safeguard it until the Colonial Hall was in better shape.

While Momilani wasn't particularly fond of Arthur, she'd been more than willing to help him do something kind for Alfred.

It was a nice little present-a replacement for the chair that had been broken on Thanksgiving.

One in America and one in England; bookends that would signify home and togetherness.

Connecting them in a subtle yet poignant, poetic-

"Ooof!"

Alfred bumped into his leg for the fourth time-this time yawning and grumbling that he needed coffee.

What he needed was a nap.

Though Alfred was leaps and bounds better than when Arthur had first recovered him from his captors, the child _**was**_ still recovering. And if he was going to regain his health mentally, emotionally, and physically than he needed plenty of rest.

Arthur picked him up-relieved when Alfred simply relaxed against him.

He couldn't have handled a struggle.

Between lack of sleep, lingering distraught over Mathieu, and an uncomfortable airplane seat-he was definitely feeling his age in his knees, spine, and elbows.

But they were nearly home anyway.

"We'll have to see what we have at home for dinner. I think I have a few meals in the freezer."

A noncommittal sound was mumbled into his shoulder.

"We could go to a park tomorrow? I think you'd enjoy a stroll through the Kensington Gardens. Quite lush and green. I daresay you'll really enjoy it once spring comes and everything's in bloom. Not just there, but-but all over the place. You'll find fields of daffodils, dear. Would you like that, pet? To visit in spring?"

His heartbeat sped up hopefully. They'd had a good visit thus far, hadn't they? All things considered. Right?

"..."

"A-alfred?"

There was no response.

"Nonono" was the churlish reply.

His heart stopped.

"...It needs to be grander."

Hurt seeped in-yes...yes...he supposed he could've done a bit more planning. There were winter festivals and tree lightings and concert tickets that he could've purchased. He'd been so afraid of pushing Alfred too hard, too soon. Everyone seemed to be in the habit of demanding so much of him. And Arthur didn't want to drag him all through London and have Alfred grin and bear it rather than enjoy it.

He'd been certain that tranquility was the best way to transition him back into daily life.

Perhaps…

Perhaps, Arthur's attempts to keep things peaceful for him...had instead made things...dull.

"No John, crystals. I need crystals and glass and pearls. Eye-catching...for...before he sleeps...don't care if it's from France, or India...or from the moon. Aye, I'll pay the damn import taxes just…has to be grand...

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Or perhaps they were having two entirely different conversations. And from the sound of it, in different centuries.

"You asked where I want the sum spent and I have told you…"

"...Alfred" Arthur gave him a slight bounce to try and jar him from the memory-boy was starting to sound awfully cross.

"...hang the garden...Father doesn't love flowers...anymore…"

Arthur halted in his steps.

"Alfred!"

The child startled awake and clung to him-shuddering, "W-w-wendigo?!"

Arthur cringed with guilt, "N-no Sweet, I just thought...thought that-that you'd like to see-" He glanced about "These-these gardens!"

Alfred looked around blearily at the front gardens along the row of houses they were passing.

"Just look at those flowers, poppet. Quite a sight for December."

"Hmm…? Mmm, yes...pretty."

The child blinked sleepily-slowly slipping back into lethargy now that he realized he was safe.

Arthur let his hand brush against the leaves and blossoms of a large camelia bush, "Lovely."

Alfred mimicked him, letting his little fingers caress the petals with an artful finesse that Arthur immediately knew he wouldn't be able to copy.

It took him a moment to realize it, but the longer they stood there…

All the blossoms were slowly turning-as if to behold Alfred.

Gardener magic.

Arthur felt his spirit lift at the sight and emboldened by it, he decided to clarify matters.

"I've always adored flora, you know. Mother, that is your Grandmother, always stressed the importance of nature. She knew all sorts of plants and herbs to heal the injured and treat the ill."

"Hm...I know some of that stuff…" Alfred mumbled.

"Do you now?"

"Yeah...but mostly I know what I can and can't eat. My feet'll lead me to good food."

"Good to know."

Perhaps, that played into Alfred's troubles with directions-the American could find a McDonald's in a snowstorm, but got lost walking around a neighborhood or battlefield despite having a map and a compass and often a GPS.

Still, if his eyes were looking at a map and his feet were looking for food...no wonder he always ended up in a weird spot.

Alfred traced the outer petals of another flower.

"I remember how you used to pick flowers for me" Arthur mentioned. "I always-"

"-complained about how dirty I'd get."

Arthur frowned and snapped "The flowers I loved! It was the wheel barrowful of dirt you managed to trek in that-"

Alfred gave him a flat look "I fear it's time to ruin the magic for you, Dad: Flowers...they grow in dirt."

Arthur blinked-stunned at the cheeky remark. Usually, Alfred's sense of humor opted for absurdity and exaggeration. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt having Alfred dip his feet in cynicism.

"Hmmph."

Alfred sighed, released the flower, and pressed his face against Arthur's shoulder.

"...m'sorry. I...I'm tired..."

Arthur nodded, "Let's go home then."

They were less than a block from the house when Alfred mumbled, "...you can be honest...it won't hurt my feelings...when I was little...I was always foisting them at you...that was probably annoying."

"When it rains, and you're shut in doors or work has trapped you in your office...flowers can work wonders to freshen a place...or a mood."

"...they were just flowers..." Alfred sighed, toying with a button on Arthur's coat.

No, they weren't. They were collections of well-wishes, thoughtfulness, and love handpicked especially for him-sometimes daily. He had journals filled with pressed flowers-gifts his beloved little colony had shipped to him while he was away. Countless times the child had attempted to "press Spring" into the pages so Arthur could enjoy it too despite their distance. And how honestly touched he'd felt by the gesture-to know that someone across the sea loved him and wanted for his happiness.

"February 1775. You stopped bringing me flowers."

The little fingers froze, "..."

"You began once more this year-"

Alfred bounced his face against his shoulder, "Geez...you're gonna count that crappy daffodil I made?"

"Indeed; as well as the lovely little bouquet you presented me in the One-Eyed Wench."

"Huh!?" Alfred went ten shades of red right then. "Wha-when-what?"

"Oh yes, you were quite insistent that I accept."

"...was that before or after you punched Tex?"

* * *

Texas kicked his heels against the porch steps. Stupid small porch with no visitor bench.

Two neighbors across the way were trying to discreetly talk to each other about him without looking like they were gabbing on account of him.

He yelled a loud overly friendly, "Howdy ladies!" and tipped his hat.

Scared them straight back into their little cookie cutter houses.

"Yeah. Tch. Y'all better run...rubberneckers."

He pulled out his phone. Apparently, Al had texted him in the morning; trying to dissuade him from hopping a plane to France since America and England were returning to London...which meant another expensive, impromptu airplane ride for Tex.

Which was inconvenient...but necessary.

He'd done what he could to help straighten out Canada. Now it was America's turn-he was in dire need of some good ol' brotherly bonding time...that didn't involve alcohol, bucking broncos, jukeboxes, roller disco, guns, or square dancing (they just didn't have enough people).

Which meant he'd packed two sets of cards, _Guitar Hero_ , _Monopoly_ , and their instruments.

 _Bop It_! had to stay home under the floorboard where Tex and Tony had banished it. Yeah, it would've delighted his little brother and if Alfred had been totally desolate, he'd have brought it. But from what Spain had told him, Italy said Alfred had taken the mean joke in pretty good stride all in all.

Of course, Tex would be the ultimate judge of that. He'd have Alaska mail the _Bop It_! to them if things were really bad.

He needed to see Al. Make sure he wasn't just putting on a brave face.

Dammit! Where the hell was he? It was late afternoon and Tex had been out here two hours already. He was getting tempted to break in, but considering how closely he was being watched by the neighborhood and how England had droned on and on about home security systems until he and Al cracked and bought one-he was pretty damn sure the Briton had some heavy surveillance going on over his property.

Patience…

Had to have some patience...

He smiled at the few pics of his brother he'd managed to stealthily take over the past month.

 _Blue eyes stared fiercely from behind his shooting goggles as Alfred pointed his paintball gun._

Damn, he was so adorable in his little camo jacket.

 _Laying in the backyard on a pile of leaves in gardening gloves that were way too big for him._

That one was a keeper.

 _Alfred and Arthur were sitting side by side-each with a book in their hands-Arthur was idly flipping through "Moby Dick" while Alfred was perusing "Nicholas Nickleby."_

"S'your fault he's such a bookworm, England" Tex sighed-noting the intent expression on Alfred's face.

It wasn't that Tex had anything against reading per se, but there'd been too many times over the years that he'd had to console his brother after reading fictional pieces that ended tragically. Though...looking back on it now, Al really had read a slew of wildly inappropriate books...way too explicit in their themes...for his age.

Whoops.

The last one featured Al, throwing his hands up to block the camera's view of his face.

Tex hadn't been quick enough to avoid detection.

' _Don't take pics of me like this...it's embarrassing…'_

It bothered Tex. It bothered him a lot.

Now, Al had always been a little embarrassed when Tex had his picture taken.

Whenever Tex had a photographer come out in the 1800s, Alfred would insist it was far too expensive...which only led Tex to call them over more often (usually after he won big at BlackJack).

He also made it a point to set Alfred's photo on his mantel, or desk, or wherever. Seeing his brother's face improved his mood. Heck, his Senators and State Representatives depended on it. Usually, whenever they had a rough subject to discuss with him they made sure to have several pictures of Al around.

And maybe it could be a little embarrassing having an older brother gush over you and your photo...but he'd never tried to stop Tex before. And after enduring half a year apart, Tex was just so glad to have him back. He wanted them to have pictures together.

He stared hard at the unhappy face he glimpsed on the screen.

 _I know this has gotta be tough for you, Al. You've got in your mind an idea of what 'The Hero' is s'posed to look like...who Alfred F. Jones is s'posed to be. But I gotta show you...I wanna show you photos of us having good times even now, even after…That way you can see...that life goes on...and that you're still you, I'm still me, and as far as I'm concerned we still got a shot at the video game "Good Ending."_

Plus, he'd been wanting to do a Wild West photoshoot for ages and Al would make the cutest lil' cowpoke ever!

He sighed and put the phone away and contemplated his surroundings for the upteenth time.

England's home was so…dollhouse like.

There were no birdhouses or windchimes or spontaneous lawn decorations touting a splash of individuality.

All the windows' drapes matched.

All the window boxes had artificial flowers in them.

While that made sense because Arthur seemed the type to get carried away with work (and would likely forget to water them or be too far away to tend them), he was sure it was slowly pissing his little brother off.

Al always preferred the real deal when possible; plastic plants just didn't do it for him.

The more he looked around, the more sources of agitation he found: the upper windows had iron security bars on the outside. The garden hose had a lock. And the doormat was plain and didn't say 'Welcome.'

Everything here was so orderly and restrictive-and that wasn't even getting into Arthur's character (which he'd found over the past few months to be highly controlling and bossy).

He sure hoped the Briton was treating his little brother right. If he wasn't...well...Canada wouldn't be the only one on the receiving end of a lecture and a well deserved punch.

He heard them before he saw them and hastily pulled his guitar onto his lap.

"No. I'm not adding an 's' to it" Alfred declared resolutely.

"There's nothing to add. The 's' was already there. You somehow lost it across the Atlantic. And until you rediscover it, you're pronouncing it wrong."

"Dude, if you don't let it go. I'm adding a 'z' ...and it's gonna go in the middle: mazth."

"You will do no such thing."

"Oh...it's a thing. As of now."

"Is that s-"

Taking that as his cue, Texas began strumming 'Yankee Doodle Dandy.'

There was a brief moment of silence and then a shrill cheer of delight and a demand to be put down.

Footsteps charged over and then-

"TEXAS!"

Texas used the strap of his guitar to swing it safely behind his back as he stood up.

Al immediately began taking the stairs two at a time.

"Alfred?! No! Be careful! Alfred?!"

The child gleefully charged his older brother.

Texas scooped him up and swung him around several times-the two of them whooping and cheering and laughing.

"Careful now!" Arthur barked.

Yeah, yeah. He knew the porch was small but he wouldn't let them tumble over.

As Arthur waited for their affectionate reunion to ebb, he picked up Tex's hat which had been knocked off.

"Thank yeh kindly" Tex nodded as the man climbed the steps to hand it over.

"I didn't know we were expecting you" the Englishman muttered. "The guest room isn't prepared and I don't-"

Tex waved a dismissive hand, "Couch is fi-"

"You can bunk with me!" Alfred interrupted throwing his arms around Tex's neck.

"It's settled then" Tex agreed; trying not to be annoyed that rather than welcoming him, Arthur grumbled to himself as he unlocked the door-dragging Tex's suitcase rather unceremoniously behind him.

* * *

Arthur bustled about the kitchen, turning the oven on for their frozen ready meals.

"I trust you did away with that foolish notion of 'whooping' Canada and came here instead?"

Where he could make himself useful and be a comfort to Alfred. If the afternoon was anything to go by, Mathieu's actions had stirred up various other dust clouds of doubt and insecurity.

That dream Alfred had…

' _Father doesn't love flowers anymore.'_

England did his best to make it abundantly clear that he still did (and likely would always) have a very soft spot when it came to flowers.

He also took that moment to task Alfred with designing a garden for Kirkland Hall.

" _W-what?" the child pulled back, eyes wide._

" _Make no mistake, the house is lovely, but it needs a garden, dear. Can't be finished without one."_

" _Well...what kind? Baroque? Or Renaissance? Walled or open or-or a maze?"_

" _Whimsical."_

" _Huh?"_

" _I defer to your imagination. Though daffodils are must. The garden should be colourful and vibrant...like y-"_

Trust Alfred to interrupt him then and move the conversation into a debate on why "colourful" needed to lose a 'u.'

Still, he let the boy lead them into a mock argument on spelling-giving the boy time to regain his composure-his cheeks had gone awfully red and his eyes were overbright. Arthur had glimpsed vulnerability and sought to assuage it...and they both knew it.

Both also knew full well their ensuing disagreement was a farce; Alfred had been perfectly content to continue being carried. And Arthur had struggled to keep a straight face as the conversation became increasingly ridiculous.

Arthur sighed looking over to the table where Alfred was seated-swinging his little legs.

Yes…

Arthur would always have a soft spot for flowers...a very soft spot indeed. Perhaps when Alfred was more prepared, they could finish that conversation in earnest. Arthur could then assure Alfred, that he and his flowers would always be wanted.

In the meanwhile, Arthur hoped that someone of Tex's more...playful temperament...could perhaps draw Alfred out of any lingering melancholy.

As a parent, he'd discovered the sad reality that there were certain limitations into how "fun" he could be. He was fatherly first, and friendly second.

But Texas-

"Nope, I already visited Matt" the Texan remarked flippantly.

As if the threat he'd made on cyberspace was forgettable!

Arthur nearly dropped the kettle, "You-you...already…?"

Goodness! Was Mathieu alright?

"Yup. I use checklists. And it was the first item on my To-Do List. And, I think we came to an understanding."

"What'd you talk about?" Alfred demanded. "You better have been nice. Mattie's not like us Tex...he's delicate! What'd you say?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Mathieu was soft spoken for certain, naturally gentle, and he was usually emotionally and philosophically aware (which made his recent behavior more startling).

But delicate?

He remembered the lad at his elbow, eyes steely, weapon at the ready in numerous wars-from America's Revolution to the Second Boer War to the World Wars.

No. Mathieu was NOT delicate.

Who was Alfred remembering?

"No can do, Lone Ranger" Texas ruffled Alfred's hair "Tha's classified Older-Brother-Stuff."

Oddly enough, Arthur felt...relieved at that. So he and Canada were establishing some sort of rapport?

That could be good. Perhaps, Texas could influence Canada into making a proper apology.

Alfred's cheeks puffed and he turned to Arthur looking for validation.

"Sorry, pet. Now that you have two older brothers who are...apparently, conspiring with one another, you'll be experiencing the phenomena of being stonewalled more often."

Rhys, Reilley, and Alistair were masters of the art.

Alfred's eyes narrowed, "...but that's...no fair..."

Thankfully, several rounds of _Old Maid_ and _Go Fish_ while their meals cooked improved Alfred's demeanor.

Though Arthur did have to suspend their card games, once dinner was ready-really, trying to bet with fish fingers...

They ended up eating in front of the telly watching _Ninja Warrior UK._

It was simultaneously athletic and slapstick enough that the Americans were entertained.

Later after Alfred changed into his pajamas, Texas decided to set up _Rock Band_ in the parlor (despite Arthur's many complaints that if it got too loud he'd be disturbing his neighbors).

Once they got going though, (Alfred begged Arthur to join them and his big blue eyes had been so hopeful Arthur couldn't turn him down) Arthur and Texas kept clashing over who got to wield the lead guitar (neither wanted to be the bass) which ultimately led to them to setting up _Guitar Hero._

Because as Alfred felt the need to comment in a ridiculous Scottish accent: "In _Rock Band_...for lead guitar... _There can only be ONE!_ "

Several musical battles later, Arthur was contemplating his controller disdainfully for the upteenth time.

"Not at all like real guitars…" Arthur sniffed-resting his fingers on the plastic buttons of his controller. Far too light a contraption. Perhaps he'd let Alfred play with one of his old strats, so he could at least feel the difference.

"Waah, waah, waah. I don't know how the buttons work. It's fine. You can cry that each time, I pulverize you" Tex grinned-looking eerily like a certain Spanish jerk whose Armada he'd sunk.

"Don't be absurd, I'm going to win this next round. It's child's play."

"Hey Al, I think we know who you got your genes for whining and boasting from."

"Rude little upstart. It's clear Spain didn't teach you the first thing about manners or-"

"Al?"

They both paused in the middle of choosing new avatars to find Alfred asleep in a mound of pillows.

"What the-it's only 10:15!"

"Goodness, it's that late already?" Arthur glanced at the clock-astounded to find he'd been playing a children's video game for two straight hours!

"Late? No. It ain't late. Look, I'll just grab him a soda and a candybar and he'll perk back-"

"No, he was tired earlier and didn't get to rest" Arthur insisted as he set the guitar down.

"Sheesh, what a wet blanket. Has he gotten to have any fun over here?"

Arthur glowered. Until the unfortunate, Secret Santa fiasco-things had been going along swimmingly.

Texas rolled his eyes, "Geez, don't get your panties in a bunch" he walked over and hefted Alfred up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Arthur squawked as the Texan marched out of the room.

"Ya know, climbing the stairs is kinda difficult" Tex grumbled "with you hoverin' around like a brooding hen. Gonna make me trip with you being so close."

"You're going to drop him" Arthur worried.

"I ain't gonna drop him."

"You're going to drop him and I'm going to have catch him."

Texas whirled around at the top of the stairs to snap at Arthur...except Arthur's hand was the only thing that stopped Alfred head from knocking into a sharp candle wall sconce.

"E-heh, oops. S-sorry."

Arthur glared and Texas was more careful as they made their final steps over to Al's bedroom.

Arthur pulled the bedcovers back and Tex flopped Alfred onto the mattress-causing the whole bed to shake.

The child giggled and gave a sleepy, slurred, "G'night Big Brother, I love you."

"Nighty night, Baby Bro. I love you too. Maybe in the morning we'll make-oof-"

Arthur shoved past the young man, taking care to gently set Hop in Alfred's arms.

Alfred hugged it close and sighed happily.

"Good night, my Sweetling. Pleasant dreams. I love you, dear."

"G'night."

Al promptly turned on his side-ignorant of the anguish he'd just caused his father.

The Briton stiffly turned the nightlight on and the overhead light off.

There was no _'I love you'_ for Arthur...just a simple, short _'g'night.'_

There was only one way to deal with that sort of heartache:

"I'm sensing some definite frustration" Texas remarked as the Englishman defeated him again.

"What was that? I can't hear you over the sound of my glorious victory!"

"Look, you've beat me eight times. Huzzah for you. Can I got to bed now?"

"Oho? You concede, that I am the greater guitarist? And tomorrow when we play _Rock Band_ again with Alfred, you'll relinquish any and all rights to the lead guit-"

"Hell no! Another round!"

And they were at it again until there was a loud, sudden _THUD_ overhead and the soft sound of a child whimpering.

Arthur immediately dropped the guitar and began sprinting up the staircase.

Had Alfred experienced a nightmare and fallen out of bed? Was he sleepwalking? Had something fallen over and frightened him?

"Alfred?! Alfred, are you alright?" he called.

Texas was hot on Arthur's heels as they barrelled into Alfred's bedroom.

They found the child sitting on the floor, rubbing his head, and whimpering quietly.

"Oh dear" Arthur knelt down by the child "Sweetheart, did you fall?"

He inspected Al's head for bumps.

"Nuh-uh" Alfred shook his head lethargically-rubbing an eye with a small fist. "Teeny meanies...pulled me outta bed."

Tex snorted and Alfred's cheeks puffed. The child reached up with both arms and Arthur immediately lifted him up.

He carefully stood and began swaying from foot to foot, "Teeny meanies?"

"Meanie teeny weenies" Alfred huffed-eyelids drooping. "Make them go away, Daddy."

"I...I...Love, tell me what happened."

Alfred ignored the request. Instead, he turned and blew a raspberry at the far side of the room.

Before either Arthur or Tex could scold him for the bizarre reaction, there was a chorus of spiteful, high pitched giggling from the darkened corner.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDDD


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the article 'An Animal You Do Not Want To See On Your Picnic' on . Or Vitali's Chaconne. Or Oberon. Or David Beckham. Or Tom McCarthy and his book: _Satin Island_. Or Princess Diana's Memorial Park (awesome Pirate Ship playground). Or Greensleeves. Or Star Wars. Or My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inaccuracies (historically, culturally, grammatically). PETA's condemnation. Langham Creek Bridge in Texas is haunted : D. Fairies. Fluff. And overprotective fathers. Alas, this chap just kept going and I had to cut it off at a reasonable place-Sorry Wales, you get bumped to Chap 21.

 **An:** Thank you so much for your reviews! Terima kasih : D Wow! Whoohoo! Sorry for the delay, this chapter kept stretching and I had to cut it twice! (I strongly suspect this fic is gonna be a beast-The way I'm going right now...I'm thinking 300,000 words easy. Any bets? XD)

 **Chapter 20: A Tickle Curbstomping**

* * *

Texas couldn't quite suppress his "eep" of distress.

Dammitdammitdammit.

Ghosts? Were there goddamn ghosts here?

The back of his neck tingled with fear.

Dammit, that was no fair. England should've warned them.

He'd have warned Arthur if he'd been travelling near Langham Creek Bridge.

It was just the hospitable thing to do-cautioning folks about paranormal hot spots!

He barely had time to react as Arthur shoved Alfred into his arms.

His little brother curled up against him, "Don' worry Tex, nobody can kick somebody out of a house...like...Arthur can. Ask Francis."

Arthur twirled his wrist with a flourish and pulled his wand out of thin air.

The star at the top of glowed brightly-illuminating glittering eyes in the corner.

"Show yourselves!" Arthur hissed. "NOW."

Double "eep." That was the same tone of voice he'd heard out of the Briton, back when England had thought Tex was responsible for Alfred's disappearance.

Six little _things_ fluttered towards them-hovering in midair.

Texas backed up several spaces and reached over and turned the light switch.

The little things squinted their dark black eyes as light flooded the room.

Arthur's shoulders suddenly slumped and he slapped a hand against his forehead and muttered: "Dartmoor Pixies."

"Huh?"

More unease dripped into Tex's stomach as he took in the pointed faces, the large batty ears, the dragonfly wings….and the spiny little teeth.

"They're Dartmoor pixies" Arthur commented-as if that explained anything. "Thank God, for one terrible moment I feared we had a Bodoach on our hands."

Arthur crossed the room and opened the window. He pointed his wand at it.

"Out."

There was an unhappy chattering of strange inhuman voices.

"No. Alfred cannot play with you. He needs his rest. Yes, he does. No-no-I said no. This is not up for discussion, I-Damnation..." Arthur turned and looked at Alfred-eyebrows knitting together sympathetically. "Dearheart, these are probably your "ghosts," aren't they?"

Alfred made a drowsy noncommittal sound.

Furious, he whipped back to face the strange creatures, "Have you been following my poor Alfred around? Frightening him?"

The fairies bobbed up and down-avoiding his gaze.

"Are you disobeying your Queen's orders? I was very clear: I will introduce Alfred to both courts next Yule."

A myriad of sour expressions met that remark.

"He isn't ready for so much excitement and you'll wear him out."

They made sounds of protest.

"You know full well you will."

They chattered something Texas couldn't quite make out, but it was clearly derisive.

The Englishman spluttered, "St-stuffy? Priggish? I most certainly am not."

They continued on.

"Wanted to play?" Arthur replied incredulously "He _**wanted**_ to sleep and you pulled him out of bed-Oh that's enough out of you! Out. Out. Out. Get you gone, little beasts."

His wand crackled threateningly with red sparks and the pixies shot out of the room slipping through the window's bars easily.

Arthur closed and latched the window "Stuffy? Hmph. Good riddance. I can't believe they'd disobey-"

"WHAT IN TARNATION DID I JUST WITNESS?!"

Al whimpered at the loud exclamation.

"Shh!" Arthur hissed, speeding over and lifting him out of Tex's hold, "He's trying to rest."

"What-what-what did I just-"

"Such an overreaction" Arthur chuckled "Did you see Alfred panic? No, you didn't."

"They seemed...familiar" Alfred mumbled.

Arthur looked like Christmas came earlier, enthusiastically affirming that statement with: "You used to play with pixies often when you were very small. More than once I found a few stowing away on my ship, just to see you Sweet."

"...oh…" Alfred yawned and pressed his face against Arthur's shoulder.

"Yes. So those were the ones responsible for our pixie infestation" Arthur hummed-letting his wand vanish back into the magical void. "Dartmoor pixies...Harmless. I just haven't had one of those since...well, since you were all very young. They're extremely fond of children."

Alfred sighed and curled his fingers into Arthur's shirt.

The Briton smiled, "Now I think a cup of warm milk will set us all to rights."

Twenty minutes and several cups later, Texas was staring down a potent glower from Arthur.

The brunette glared back, "Deal with it."

"You're being bloody ridicul-."

"Yeah, well...you're not makin' _**him**_ go back into the creepy room," Texas pointed at Alfred who was fast asleep lying between them. His head was pillowed on Arthur's bicep expression content, mouth...drooling just a little bit.

But that was only fair. Tex had been drooled on plenty over the years-it was Arthur's turn.

"..."

"Have you learned nuthin' from our horror movies? Ya don't go in the woods. Ya don't make out in the cemetery. Ya don't take a bath and ya don't split up. Sorry partner, I am bunking with you. Deal with it."

* * *

Arthur slowly awoke to the sound of music...and snoring.

He unceremoniously pushed Tex's head of curly hair off his shoulder-cursing the inconvenience of unwelcome bedfellows.

Texas continued on unrepentantly.

Fearful that Alfred had been squashed under his brother's weight, Arthur immediately looked under the bedsheets.

But Alfred wasn't there.

Now suspecting the identity of the mysterious music maker, Arthur slipped out of bed and pulled on his robe and slippers as he padded downstairs in pursuit.

The music led him to the back garden where he found Alfred playing his violin. The boy was up and dressed in denims and a jumper.

His eyes were shut in concentration as he played _Vitali's Chaconne_...G minor.

Arthur felt his jaw drop a bit..

Would _**never**_ have guessed Alfred knew that one.

He couldn't be prouder to hear it either…

As Arthur approached the small cement garden bench, he noticed two pixies from the previous night spying on his child from a low branch of a tree.

Arthur marched over and gave the branch a firm thwack!

The little pests gasped and bumped into each other in their haste to depart.

God. Keeping them away was going to be more difficult than he first thought.

If King Oberon could only see his granddaughter's lack of control over her subjects; it was a sad day when the citizens of the Seelie Court were less rule abiding than the Unseelie's.

Arthur shook his head and sat down on the bench.

He could worry over that later, he needed to appreciate Alfred's music now.

He couldn't keep from smiling. Given the high level of mastery, he was witnessing now...it was hard to believe that he'd known a time where "Baa Baa Black Sheep" had been at the high end of Alfred's musical ability.

He enjoyed seeing the determination in Alfred's face and the grace in his movements in an activity that didn't involve combat or weaponry.

As the child finished, his eyes opened and he let out a little startled gasp upon being discovered.

"Bravo" Arthur praised, clapping. "Well done. I'm so glad to see you've kept at it all these years."

The boy turned a brilliant red, "You-you...when…?"

"We'll have to perform a duet soon. Though you'll need to be forgiving with me, I fear my skills may have rusted a bit. I usually practiced during long voyages, with airplanes being in style now..."

"...uh...um…" the child scuffed a shoe "kay."

"Brill. We usually have a music day, you know. At the manor. I can help you select a piece, if you'd like. Though what you played just now would be good. Truly. You may even find that you'll want to collaborate. Kaoru is a wonderful pianist, you know."

"Hmm."

"You've...you've just been practicing ever since..."

Ever since the 1680s...

Ever since the Revolution...

Alfred gave a shy nod.

Ever since...

Abruptly he thought of the sad, delipidated Music Room in Kirkland Hall.

"So proud of you. That...that is dedication."

Alfred bit his lip as his cheeks went pink.

"I hope you'll do me the honor of playing more often...now."

Blue eyes met green, "Kay. But I mainly just know old stuff and country stuff…"

Alfred shuffled over and perched on the edge of the bench.

"Well, I'm very intrigued in the 'old' stuff."

Alfred contemplated his instrument.

"So...Sweet, I was thinking today was a good day for a picnic."

Alfred nodded distractedly.

"Unless you'd prefer dining in a rest-"

"Arthur?"

"Y-yes, pet?" He answered; trying to keep his voice light, despite feeling a bit hurt that he was being called by his first name once more.

"D-dad?"

"Yes?"

"You…" he fidgeted with his bow and kicked his feet.

"Yes?"

Alfred stared at his feet, "You...you still like _Greensleeves_...right?"

* * *

Arthur gave the small gloved hand in his an affectionate squeeze and was delighted when it was returned.

Oh yes, the walk over to Kensington Park was splendid.

A few holiday decorations here and there made it festive, the people were all bustling around, there were flowers blooming, and Alfred had played _Greensleeves_ for him that morning.

O how that brought back memories of sunny days of singing while hanging laundry. Little Alfred would sit in the basket handing him clothes-pegs and joining in on the chorus with _"Gweensweeves was all my joy, Gweensweeves was my dewight…"_

Arthur tried to assure himself that they kept getting stares from passersby because of Tex's ridiculous outfit...and not Arthur's stupidly giddy expression.

He readjusted his hold on the picnic basket in his other hand. He'd had to clean off the dust this morning. If his other children were given the choice between dining in a fine restaurant or on a blanket over grass, it was no contest.

The chance of bugs, rain, grass rash, sweat stains, grass stains, mud, sunburns, and limited food selection (some things just couldn't keep well) usually saw it removed from the list of "fun family activities."

It was always Alfred, who'd been his happy-go-lucky-picnic-goer.

This basket was finally going to see more use. (In the past, it had been depressing packing it for one and he'd finally just started stowing it away in the far recesses of his pantry.)

Thankfully, Texas appeared to be a picnic-goer as well. He hadn't fussed at all as he outlined their plans for the day, and he didn't roll his eyes when Arthur asked the younger man to carry the football.

He didn't dare ask Alfred (he knew the child wouldn't be able to resist playing with it and the idea of him running into the street after it…)

Arthur took a deep breath and forced it out. Wy had done that once. Yes, she'd been younger than Alfred was now and Arthur had managed to snatch her out of harm's way but…

Alfred was currently dangling-stretching as far as he could to brush a hand over bushes and tree trunks as they walked along.

"Dear" he chided "You're blocking the way. Other people are approaching."

"O-oh" he hastily drew back to Arthur's side-genuinely unaware that he'd been in the way.

"Now, now. No harm done. We just don't walk on that side here, Sweet."

He'd probably repeated that hundreds of times, but it'd yet to sink in.

"Now, when we're at Kirkland Manor in an effort to make things fair (as there's a lot of compromise necessary whenever so many people are sharing one roof) we usually let everyone pick an event or special meal or outing-"

"STAR WARS!" the child blurted "Daddy, Daddy, DadDadDad pleasepleaseplease. Star Wars."

"Er…"

Usually it was something cultured; a museum, a ballet, a restaurant meal, an orchestral concert, meeting with an author or artist or scientist...

"I...I'll see what I can do."

Blasted thing was probably sold out.

Tex scoffed, "Al, there's no way he can get that many tickets in so short a time. And not everyone's into spacey stuff either. Be reasonable."

"Oh…" Alfred's face fell and Arthur felt an immediate swell of indignation.

If he called in enough favors, perhaps asked the Queen, he could probably get some sort of private showing for them and-

"Daddy? Do they all like Star Wars?"

"Er…"

Alfred's rapt attention at that moment gave him no chance to piece together a gentle let down.

"...erm…"

Because a loud, Science-Fiction blockbuster, brimming with CGI and explosions just wasn't everyone's cuppa.

"...oh…" Alfred mumbled.

"Sweet-" They could go after! They could go on New Year's Eve. Or a bit later when the audience of devoted fans had perhaps thinned a bit and movie-goers stopped dressing up.

"No...I don't wanna drag everybody there...Oh! We could do laser tag!"

"Now you're thinkin'" Tex grinned.

"H-huh?"

"Everybody likes laser tag!" Alfred nodded "It's fun! The lights are cool! And it's stress-relieving! And I'm getting weapon withdrawal-so it'll make me feel better. And you get to wear armor! Which is kinda medieval-ly, so you'll like it too!"

"Er...yes."

Yes...they _could_ do that. Though Arthur would have to do everything in his power to assure they were put on the same team. And medieval armor in no shape or way proved similar to laser tag armor. Perhaps, he'd let Alfred dress up in some of his old armor and chain mail and figure that out for himself.

Alfred released a cheer of delight and swung their hands happily as they entered the park.

Perhaps, in light of Mathieu's recent behavior. Arthur half-expected Texas to tease his younger brother for holding his father's hand. The lad surprised him by taking up Alfred's free hand with his own, which allowed both adults to swing the child between them.

By the time, Arthur had picked a spot and was spreading the blanket out-Alfred was a happy ball of energy darting to and fro as he and Texas chased each other. It was good to see his spirits so high, though it did make Arthur rather nervous when Texas hefted the child over his head.

It would've been different if Arthur was the one doing it.

He would never drop his boy.

Arthur was pleased to see how Alfred tucked into the meal: sandwiches, juice, crisps, grapes, cubes of cheese, and small rolls of meat were hardly extravagant...But you'd have thought Alfred was feasting with the gods on Olympus.

Alfred devoured his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with relish.

Arthur chuckled and gently removed several smears of peanut butter from Alfred's face with a napkin.

"This was all really good, thanks" Alfred smiled.

"Good."

When Arthur finished, he stretched and laid down-staring up contentedly at the blue sky.

At the bottom of the basket, he'd packed Tom McCarthy's _Satin Island_. It was high time to see if the novel deserved praise or not.

Arthur yawned; He just wanted a little rest first and then he'd crack the book open.

Alfred crawled to his side, leaned over, and pouted, "Are you gonna take a nap?"

 _Spoiled little thing_ , he thought fondly, _expecting Father to spend every minute entertaining you._

Arthur laughed at the accusation and ruffled the child's hair, "I just might."

Little fingers began toying with the buttons on Arthur's coat. He couldn't bring himself to feel annoyed. A reprimand on respecting his person and his belongings would only do harm. Instead, he reached right back adjusting the collar of Alfred's jacket to fold correctly.

Alfred didn't freeze or flinch or watch him warily and Arthur let out a breath, he didn't realize he was even holding. The child was at last overcoming some of his inhibitions regarding personal space.

"Are you tired?" Alfred asked; blue eyes filled with concern.

"Oh, just a little."

And then he took on a knowing look, "It's cuz Texas snores."

"I don't snore-" Texas growled.

"He snores-"

"Well, not loud-"

"Snores _**loudly-**_ "

"Yeah well, sometimes you drool!"

"Yup, but drooling is still quiet. Which makes me easier to sleep beside...so I win. Not by a lot. But I do still win."

And then Texas started to snicker, "I love that you don't even deny it anymore."

Alfred snickered too, "How could I? You both know. You snore, I drool, and Dad cuddles."

Arthur felt his face heat up and tried to stammer a denial.

Alfred blinked in surprise, "Hey, it's not a big deal. For what it's worth, that was one of the reasons I always chose you over Mattie when I had to share a cold, muddy Foxhole in winter 1917. It was freezing there and everybody I liked kept dying. The last thing I needed was Mattie stealing the blankets. I just can't do it when it's jungle-ly. Then, it's just too humid to snuggle...all smelly and sweaty and ew..."

"..." Arthur wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. On the one hand it was rather embarrassing to have that habit called out. On the other...hearing it phrased in that context...It painted a rather sad image of Alfred trying to covertly glean some scrap of affection from him because he didn't seem to think he would receive comfort from his father by asking.

"Hey Al, you remember that one picnic we had when that alligator-"

"Hell yeah, I do!

Arthur frowned, "Alfred, I want you to know-"

He wanted to continue that conversation.

"Scaly bastard ate my burger!"

"Language!" He muttered distractedly; he wanted Alfred to know that he could come to him when he was distraught. He didn't need to run off (as he had after Canada's "gift") and he didn't need to bottle up his grief (as he had-shivering and sniffling miserably in 1917).

Tex, chuckled "Australia would've been proud-"

"Alfred...you can always-"

"He had to pay! And yeah, PETA will be angry with me, but...he had to pay."

"Made the most beautiful boots Art-"

"Artie!" A woman's voice laughed.

Arthur sat up, "E-eva?!"

"Eva!" Alfred exclaimed, waving frantically.

"Hello there!" The woman greeted, setting her sunglasses on the top of her head, "Enjoying the odd weather? We are."

She indicated to the little girl hiding behind her leg, "This is my Emma. Emma say hello to Artie and Alfie, won't ya?"

The little girl mumbled something and then hid her face against her mother's leg.

"I'll translate" Eva snickered "Hello gents, my name's Emma and I love unicorns."

The child nodded and mutely pointed to her ruffled shirt, which had an adorable fluffy white unicorn on it.

"Unicorns" Alfred nodded "I'm not really an authority on the subject. That's up Dad's alley. He's more qualified to chat about it than me. But I think they're okay. They sleep in closets-building nests made from pilfered left socks. And they like popcorn."

Eva and her daughter giggled, "Oh Artie, he's hilarious."

Arthur felt his eyebrow twitch. One: because Eva thought Alfred was joking. Two: because Eva clearly didn't believe in mythological creatures. Three: he'd given Alfred very clear instructions when he gifted that unicorn to him on what their diet was supposed to be comprised of. And four: that unicorn was getting territorial and he and Alfred would have to house train her properly.

"Y'all gonna introduce me to your lady friend?"

Eva gave Arthur a questioning look.

He shook his head: "Spain."

Texas tipped his hat, "A pleasure to meet you both, ma'am. I'm Tex."

"Eva."

"Any friend of Al's is a friend of mine. 'Specially the _lovely_ ones."

Eva cleared her throat with a bit more force than was necessary and tried not to blush.

Arthur sent the flirt a warning glare.

As the children played "keep away" with Texas (throwing his hat back and forth between them and Tex indulged them with halfhearted swipes and tickle attacks), Eva and Arthur got to talking.

First about upcoming concerts, then about Molly who, according to Eva, was already seeing someone new.

And then...

"Bless him, he's a wee thing" Eva remarked softly.

He followed her gaze and felt his stomach flop a bit.

Seeing their children side by side...it was almost alarming.

Emma was four. Alfred was seven. And yet, Alfred was barely half a head taller than her.

He thought of his poor Roanoke.

His tiny baby...

So small…

So very small…

Frightfully small...he'd have fit in Arthur's hands…

He'd seen noblemen and women turn their noses up at such delicate heirs-sending them off (minutes old) with nursemaids-sometimes almost impatiently waiting for them to die so that they might steel themselves to try again. At that time, they were all ignorant of what "kangaroo care" could've done for those children. Often what he knew now made him regret their fates.

It had been easy pinning their deaths to cruel destiny and poor breeding and bad weather and rotten luck. Waving it all off as unfortunate but necessary-they didn't need a weak successor.

Begrudgingly, he felt a wave of gratitude towards Iroquois. Though she was a terrible mother figure in his opinion…at least she hadn't allowed his child to be wholly abandoned. And his little one survived long enough for Arthur to find him and take him underwing.

"Premature" he admitted gruffly, knowing full well Eva had already guessed and was waiting for him to say it. If she'd done even the most minimal of research, she'd have read about his early colonizing days in America: the abandoned forts, the shortage of willing volunteers, the lack of food and supplies and shelter and protection. "But he'll grow up into a strong, strapping lad just you wait!"

She raised an eyebrow at his defensive reply-likely surprised by the fierce, certainty in his voice.

The fact of the matter was he'd already seen the young man Alfred would be. He was small for his age now, but he'd shoot up spectacularly during his teenage years. It was probably the first time, that thinking of that growth spurt brought Arthur relief.

Yes; Alfred would grow soon enough...there was no reason to rush it.

So Alfred was small now…

So what…

Hmph...acting like his size was some sort of issue.

It wasn't.

He was healthy and beautiful and sweet and he told her so.

* * *

Alfred took care not to frown as Eva ruffled his hair...but he didn't smile either, only Arthur was allowed to do that.

And that was just cuz he was old.

He glanced at Arthur who was having an honest heart-to-heart conversation with Emma on the virtues of... _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_.

So Arthur was a Brony...how unsurprising…

Still, when you were super old you got away with hair ruffling, and cheek pinching, and sappy nicknames, and _My Little Pony_.

"We're heading over to the Diana Memorial Playground. There's a huge wooden pirate ship, ya know? Ya could do Arthur a favor and pretend to be plundering the Spanish Main. Let Daddy relive the glory days of being a pir-"

"I was _**not**_ a pirate!" Arthur insisted.

His interest piqued at the thought of an awesome ship that wouldn't make him sea sick.

Except...

He had an instinctive feeling that it'd be crawling with kids and…

"I was a privateer. Thank you very much."

It wouldn't be like when he was an adult clowning around for the little kids running around there.

He would _**be**_ the little kid.

"...with the Queen's blessing…"

And that would be like accepting that this new form was here to stay and he couldn't change it…

"No thanks!" Alfred replied "I have to prove my supreme star-spangled greatness by defeating them in soccer."

He pointed at the ball lying on the edge of their blanket.

"I see. Well, do go easy on Arthur. He's still stinging from the last World Cup."

Arthur scowled as mother and daughter laughed and gave a cheery goodbye.

Had Alfred known then how much he was gonna suck at soccer, he'd have popped that stupid ball.

Alfred's main skill in the game had always been by being aggressive and while he'd done okay in an indoor scuffle with Sealand...

Now that he was up against Arthur and Tex…

Lacking his previous muscular form (which he'd used a virtual battering ram-body slamming into people to get the ball) he was terrible.

He was reduced to kicking shins and hitting people behind the knees.

"Dammit boy, I don't have the ball" Arthur barked rubbing his shin "Red Card. God. Red Card!"

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip in frustration.

Their half-field-every-man-for-himself soccer game just wasn't going his way.

Tex had already scored twice-kicking the ball into the designated goal spot between a trash can and a scraggly tree.

"Must be in the blood" Tex grinned which made Al pout.

"Channel David Beckham" Arthur muttered to himself repeatedly. As if he could just page the man's skills.

Did that actually work? It almost made him tempted to try...only...he couldn't imagine England would be pleased if he overheard America saying "channel George Washington" or "Benjamin Franklin" to himself whenever he needed to be impressive.

Before he could give it a try, he swore he saw something in the bushes. A raccoon? He'd heard that the furry bandits were sometimes kept as pets here and ended up getting loose.

It'd certainly explain what he saw. The way the shrub shook-whatever was in it was too large to be a squirrel or a bird or-

BOP!

The ball hit him soundly on the head and bounced off and away.

Texas guffawed, slapping a knee as Arthur panicked.

"I'm fine" Alfred barked and chased after the ball. This was probably gonna be his only chance to have the ball since their longer legs kept giving them the advantage.

There!

Among some mushrooms!

He was about to get it when two hands abruptly seized him under the armpits and lifted him up.

Arthur was red faced and wheezing.

"H-hey…" Alfred grumbled as his feet dangled "that's gotta be cheating or a foul or a black flag or something. I-"

" _ **I'll**_ get it."

The tone was low, deep, and surprisingly serious.

Alfred stared as Arthur carefully set him down several feet away from where the ball was. Curious now, the boy watched as the Englishman deliberately trod on two mushrooms- breaking the circle before entering it and picking up the ball-he also took care to stomp on a few more on his way out.

"D-daddy?"

Only the goalie was supposed to touch it with their hands...were they not playing anymore?

Arthur took a deep breath, " ** _That_**...is a fairy ring."

"The mushroom...circle? Oval? Kinda kidney-shaped really-"

"Alfred" His name was said too seriously and Alfred stilled.

Arthur rested a hand on his shoulder, "It's a fairy ring: Elferingewort."

"Elfer…"

"Elferingewort" Arthur repeated, his hand moved to cup Alfred's cheek, "And I want you to avoid them; they're bad luck. Walking through them...even when they're inactive may garner you unwanted attention from fae."

"How are they made?"

"Dancing...it's where they dance often."

"Oh."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. He thought it was gonna be something along the lines of ritual sacrifice or devil conjuring or...something.

Unbidden, a dim memory cropped up of him dancing around toadstools as someone played a harp.

"If you see any mushrooms in the garden, you let me know."

He swallowed and nodded, "Kay."

"Alfred, it's important."

"Yes, sir."

"Good lad."

Arthur didn't want to play soccer after that. He tossed the ball to Tex and declared him the winner of the three way match.

Not that Alfred really minded-it just meant it was easier to pull him into a game of tag around their blanket.

He was just about to show off and do a cartwheel when he heard a tinkling, metallic sound.

There…

Shimmering as it hung on a low branch...was some kind of necklace with a winding key hanging off it.

"Got you!" Arthur crowed-his arms coming around Alfred and lifting him off the ground.

Arthur spun them around again and again and again until the world became a swirl of color and then he carefully used a "side fall" to flop them onto the blanket. Since Alfred was always involved in "stage combat" whenever he was in a play, he recognized the move instantly. He'd thought himself a master, but...dammit...Arthur was better.

And then the old man began an epic tickle battle which became a tickle curbstomping when Texas combined forces with Arthur. The traitor!

By the time Alfred even thought to look for the necklace again…it was gone.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Chuck Norris. Or the lyric from "If You're Gonna Play In Texas" written by Murray Kellum and Dan Mitchell and performed by the band _Alabama._

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inaccuracies (historically, culturally, grammatically). Some more amateur Spanish. Dime novels. If you're into 1812, look up the Shipyard Burning in Essex (April 1814)...(happened before the burning of the White House-August 1814) as well as the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders Regiment in New Orleans (1815)...The reality of the War of 1812 is that it was a very complicated mess where everyone was fighting dirty. The more you delve in, the nastier it gets regardless of whose perspective you're looking out from...which is probably why it keeps getting swept under the carpet by all countries involved-except for Canada-Canada's proud-the war helped give its citizens a more unified identity. Fun Fact for those who are curious: General Andrew Jackson (Yup, that would-be president on the $20 bill) was involved on the American side of that battle and if you've read up on him-you know he was gonna fight the U.K. to his dying breath. He went through so many scuffles with them from the American Revolution through 1812-it's hilariously fitting that he became President and the U.K. had to deal with him some more. It just adds to my headcanon that Arthur had a terrible time working diplomatically with him...and that Alfred would deliberately leave them alone together. Feels...you've been warned...o.O Mean slurs involving redheads. Wales...O Wales...he really just sort of...walks into it. Embarrassing parents. Overprotective parents. Overconfident but woefully inexperienced babysitters. Overwhelmed Alfred.

 **AN:** Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad my story can put you in a good mood. And Happy St. Paddy's Day to its Shamrockin' participants and you too lone Leif Erickson celebrator (I'm glad you keep a flame going for him even when it's not October). Still…Favorite Review: "I'm not used to you updating when it's not 4am." XD And now just to shake things ups, I decided to update now! Happy Reading! And have a great weekend! : DDD

 **Chapter 21: Don't Be Sad**

* * *

Arthur was trying to grin and bear it. Really, he was, but...country music…

Humphf…

Still, he watched as Texas strummed his guitar and Alfred fiddled-it certainly kept their moods bright and cheery-playing " _If_ _you're gonna play in Texas."_

Arthur leaned against the hallway wall-first contemplating the soft wool slippers on his feet and then to Tex's luggage sitting next to the door.

He was, dare he say it, a bit reluctant to see him go. His company cheered Alfred up a good deal. A godsend after that fiasco with Mathieu. Though he understood and empathized that Antonio wanted to spend time with his child. Arthur couldn't find it in himself to even try and argue the point.

Besides, Antonio had already gracefully conceded to relinquish Texas for Christmas Day.

Early on, Arthur had collaborated with Alaska, Hawaii, and Texas that should Alfred stay with him during the holidays, he hoped they would come visit at Kirkland Hall from Christmas Day through the Ball. Because it would've been cruel to assume the boy hadn't developed any traditions of his own during their separation.

Very likely Arthur would find himself busy during the ball with hosting duties and he didn't know how well the other children would treat Alfred in that setting...

Having the three appear on the 25th (as if Santa had deposited them purposely) would make for such a happy surprise.

Tex's phone (which was on its loudest setting) rang and vibrated on the coffee table.

England peaked through the shutters and saw a cab pull up.

Spain exited from the vehicle and motioned for the driver to stay put.

As he jogged up the steps, Arthur opened the door and blinked as Antonio rushed past him with an abrupt "Hola."

It was almost immediately followed by a guitar twanging off-key and an "OOF! Papi?! Qué diablos-"

"Te he extrañado" Spain replied, not loosening his tight embrace.

Arthur watched both brunets head back towards him with Alfred trailing behind.

Texas slung his guitar over his shoulder and gave Arthur a salute, "Thanks fer lettin' me crash, Art."

The Briton sighed-not bothering to correct the nickname.

Antonio ruffled Alfred's hair and smiled sweetly, "Buenas noches, Alfredo. Que sueñes con los angelitos."

The boy gave a baffled sidelong glance to Texas.

The Texan reached over and gave his father a shove in the arm, "Papi!" He tilted his head to where Alfred was "No habla espanol."

"¿Qué? ¿Nada en absoluto?"

"¡Papi, para, me estás avergonzado!" He crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Sorry, sorry. Goodnight Alfred, I hope you sleep well."

"O-oh...kay...thanks."

Tex gave an approving nod.

"With your permission" Spain indicated the luggage.

"Huh? Oh...yeah, right, thanks."

"I wait for you outside."

"Kay."

Antonia hauled the luggage out and wished Arthur a good night.

Alfred offered up Tex's hat which had likely been knocked off during Spain's exuberant greeting and Tex's phone-which the lad swiftly pocketed.

"I can't believe it's time already."

"Fraid so, little brother. I'm off to raise more hell throughout Europe. Someone has GOT to uphold the stereotypes of Americans."

"Keep fighting the good fight" Alfred giggled. "Laugh loudly. Juggle that silverware. Make small talk...with people waiting in line who you don't know."

"You can count on me, cowpoke."

Arthur felt his eye twitch. In one fell swoop, they both showed so much ignorance for Spain's customs. The people there tended to be very boisterous, cheerful, and friendly and were usually forgiving with foreigners.

Alfred laughed brightly.

Like a shadow on the wall, Arthur watched the light-hearted goodbye...

Filled with laughter…

And hugs…

And almost gratuitous "I Love You's"...

Alfred waved until their cab was far, far out of sight.

"Well come on then. We're letting a chill in and I expect it'll be raining soon. Tonight's your night to choose a movie to watch. We still have two remaining episodes of your Power Rangers, right? Go on then, just hack the DVD player like you did in that hotel room."

Alfred nodded, staring out into the night sky.

Alfred was dangerously gifted when it came to technology workarounds. Still...if Arthur could pick up a few skills from the boy.

"You'll have to walk me through it. Seems like a valuable trick to learn-"

He nodded again.

"Unless of course you're eager for news?"

The child nodded once more.

"Yes; some nice, boring news. Some piece with little journalistic merit-"

And again.

Well, if he was going to be in a mood…

"Good. I'll do my best to find the dullest broadcasters. Monotones. Just for you, poppet."

"Yeah, thanks" Alfred mumbled. "Back in...in a minute."

Arthur stared as the child hastily rushed down the steps and into the dark night sky.

The Briton practically tripped over himself to follow.

"Alfred!?"

Yes, he lived in a relatively safe area but-but-but-

Night time!

Barefoot!

No coat!

No wallet!

No nothing!

And the weather was turning!

He'd catch his death out here!

Adrenaline coursed through him and he caught the child before he reached the end of the block.

"A-alfred?!" He huffed-keeping a good hold on his upper arm as he steered him back around and forced him under a nearby streetlight to better see him.

"I-minute-air-myself-I-I-I" Alfred's bottom lip was trembling...the boy looked away.

"Al...?"

"I just...I miss him already" He snapped and he wiped his nose with the edge of his sleeve.

Arthur nodded-trying his best to keep his own emotions in check.

It was a complex feeling of heartache welling up within him; part genuine concern, part petty envy. There'd been a time when Arthur sailing home elicited such woe. Alfred's wails had made his insides twist miserably as he barked orders to his sailors.

He'd come to realize in the next few centuries that the only thing worse than hearing his son's loud sorrow was his angry silence. Arthur could remember staring at him expectantly for some sort of heartfelt emotion as he exited the house-even in spite of the difficulties they were enduring.

He'd deliberately cross through the kitchen, to see his son one final time before he headed out. To give the boy one last chance to see him off with a proper goodbye. The teenager would sit sullenly at their table...at the head of it...in Arthur's spot...and would purposely not rise...

Blatant disrespect...

"It's…"

Following their separation, Arthur's comings and goings received little fanfare or attention from the boy at all-good or ill. Just a smiled greeting and a smiled farewell.

He'd thought that it was likely that Alfred had just outgrown such emotional responses regarding departures (he didn't make a fuss over Mathieu or Lithuania or Hawaii).

England took a deep breath; Alfred was very close to Texas…

It was a special bond.

"...alright…"

 _"You are the unrefuted, longest lasting, bonafide roommate I've ever had."_

And he was…

Though it made Arthur's heart heavy to concede even that when...he'd always consider himself to be the uncontested one who'd loved him the longest...Alfred's relationship with Osha be damned.

And the idea of not being recognized as such...

Still...

It wasn't hard to see how easily Texas had slipped into Alfred's heart. Both were children who, by their own view, considered themselves abandoned by their fathers. They had tumultuous relationships with their fellow colonies.

There was much they had in common: from similar senses of humor to that brazen want of adventure to that frontiersmen idea of what freedom and justice should entail.

And…it had culminated in an almost absurd, dime novel-esque, cliched, shining familial relationship of love and trust…that just...cast the rest of them into shadow…

Real resentment boiled at the pit of his stomach.

Not because Alfred cherished his older brother.

No...no, he was glad he'd found someone who cared about him.

It was the disregard for himself!

Did he really expect Arthur to just let him wander about while he was upset?

That Arthur cared so little?!

Terrible things could befall him! Terrible people! Or terrible thoughts!

"It's alright to be upset after a parting" he told him.

Mentally, he ran through other abandonments...

He'd left for that clinic without a proper goodbye, following his rescue he'd sped off from McDonald's without telling Arthur where he was going, and just now…just now…

A downpour opened overhead...always leaving him in the rain...

Was his company so dismissible?

But if that was so...why did he even agree to come over for the holiday? He could've easily stayed in Virginia, celebrated with Texas, received Yule instructions. He'd chosen to come here. It was difficult to make Alfred do anything against his will.

If he was anywhere (kidnapping or war aside), it was where he chose to be and-

Wait…

Alfred had even run off from his own Thanksgiving celebration...

And…

Texas hadn't acted...surprised...

Arthur blinked.

Was it...not unusual behavior? For Alfred?

He ran off when he felt…

...overwhelmed…?

Well...that wasn't a healthy way to deal with such matters.

"Goodness. Why didn't you simply ask Texas and Antonio if they could stay an extra day? Perhaps, they could've allotted it and you would've had an easier time coming to terms that they needed to leave and-"

"No," the boy rasped wrenching himself free "Can't be sad: I don't want him to worry!" The boy sniffled "He'll be safer and more alert when he's travelling, if he isn't busy worrying about me! And they need time together! Just them! Before Mexico shows up. I know Tex...missed having him around. I know" he hiccupped "I know that. He stayed angry for so long cuz he cared. I can't just-just hog him. He...needs...I..."

This...was a new terrible sound...

Arthur decided then that the dockside wails and the contemptuous silence easily paled in comparison to the soft, half-swallowed squeaks of grief being smothered.

 _Always the selfless hero? Hmm, Alfred?_

"So...you came out here to chase after solace?"

There was a miserable nod.

Thunder rolled overhead.

"Silly thing."

Alfred looked up sharply.

"What a terrible sense of direction...you were headed entirely the wrong way."

"Huh?"

Arthur opened his arms.

Several minutes passed. Arthur would readily admit that holding the position wasn't very comfortable, but he understood that the boy couldn't be rushed and-

Alfred turned around.

His heart sunk into his wet slippers.

No...no, he didn't want to think about…

" _You used to be so great."_

Blast…

He felt a lump in his throat.

Rejected...again...

The child wrapped his arms around himself.

No…

No, he wouldn't give up so easily, "Al-"

"...Don't want you to see me like this...You keep having to see me like this…"

What?

"...I just need a minute...I'll come back in...in a minute...I just..."

Arthur took a step forward and knelt-carefully wrapping his arms around the small child who tensed.

"Poets...they...they always make love sound so easy. Graceful and…perfect and...it's not. They...they don't talk about how pain...real pain can mix in with it or how it's...it's...it's so...messy and overwhelming and...But...that's how it is. When it's real. When love is real it...doesn't need to be dressed up. Doesn't have to be. Because it's genuine. And that's what makes it so valuable. It...shouldn't be embarrassing... Modor… Er...Mother...sorry...your Grandmother would be proud. She always felt that if you loved anything, it should be deeply...said...that people ought to love from the roots of trees...rather than the leaves. _'Else how can it weather a breeze? Let alone a storm?_ '"

The child very slowly turned around in the circle of Arthur's arms and sagged against him.

It wasn't quite a reciprocated hug but...

It gave him the impression that where there had been a locked door before...was a door just the slightest bit ajar.

Arthur could work with that.

He lifted him up and set him firmly on his hip, before turning on his heel and marching back into the house.

It was hard to believe that just moments ago he'd been all smiles, and hugs and…

" _Don't be sad."_

He'd said that quite a bit...now that Arthur bothered to reflect on it.

And while sometimes it was true that melancholy could distract from happy wonders going on around you...

Other times…

" _Can't be sad."_

Other times it interweaved itself around another, bleaker message: "Don't let anyone see you be sad."

"It's alright to be sad" he declared forcefully as he reached the house and stepped in "...I'd say it was healthy. Unpleasant perhaps...but healthy. Besides, if one isn't visibly distressed and...isn't vocal about said distress…it just...stays inside...trapped and...well...how...how can one receive the consolement he needs? Hm?"

Alfred stayed quiet and toyed with a button on Arthur's shirt.

"How can we make ourselves feel better when we do nothing, to-to-to change the way things are?"

"It's...less sad when I...have something important to do...and when I'm the leaving one. Or when we're...both leaving."

"I see. It's hard to be left behind" Arthur readily agreed.

There was a vigorous nod and then the child stilled and abruptly sobbed, "And he's gonna be the one leaving a lot! They're gonna need him to go out and serve and protect. And I-I won't be able to go with him anymore! We made a promise! And now I'm gonna break it-"

Arthur carefully closed and locked the door behind them and went to sit down on the steps of the staircase.

He carefully maneuvered the child to sit on his lap, "Alfred-"

"He's gonna leave me! He's gonna leave me! Like you left me and I'll be trapped in a house all by myself and-"

Dread filled Arthur's innards.

 _Alfred mumbled woefully at his reflection. He rubbed an arm across his streaming eyes-body shaking with soft sobs. "I'm too little to be anything important to anyone."_

" _It's not faaaair" he wailed and slammed his hands against the mirror._

So _**that**_ was the underlying issue here.

"Alfred! Alfred, please listen to me!"

He cupped the child's face and forced him to look him in the eye.

"You are NOT going to be abandoned. Yes, there will be limitations in what your government will allow you to-"

"S'not fair" he blubbered.

"No" he agreed "Perhaps not but-"

"I just wish I could be fixed!"

Arthur felt his heart crack at that and he pulled the child tightly against himself, "You're not damaged. You're not." He insisted fervently. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're upset. You should be. You've been through a lot...but you're not...you'll never be...never."

Alfred stared at him for a long beat and then hesitantly reached for his father's face. He stared blankly at the tears he collected on his fingers.

"Why...are you crying?"

"Because you're being so hard on yourself."

The child's mouth made an "o" of surprise.

Before the conversation could continue there was the fumbling sound of a key being slid into the door.

Rhys ambled in awkwardly with an umbrella, his luggage, his big ring of keys and an upset Camelot.

The furry little numpty must've run out while the door was open.

"I-I'm here...now" the Welshman announced uncertainly. "Are you...having troubles? I thought I saw you...out...looking for him...just now? "

He took in their haggard appearances, "Are you both alright? Has something happened?"

"Er...no...I...thank you for-for catching him..."

Both brothers stared at one another for a beat.

"S-sorry...about Camelot."

"No need, Sweet. Camelot runs off for an adventure now and again. Always returns."

Rhys stared-first at Alfred's slumped form and then at Arthur.

"Rhys, you're welcome to any of the guestrooms. Come on, Sweet," he set Alfred on his feet and took him by the hand "Let's go check on Americat and make sure he's still inside-"

"It's dinnertime, Americat wouldn't leave during dinnertime."

And he was right: the cat was sitting beside its bowl-mournfully pushing at it with his paw.

* * *

Wales read through his list one final time, confident that he had it all scheduled out.

Apart from a convoluted meeting at the door, Rhys had a rather simple evening...alone. Which was actually how he preferred it. Travelling never left him in the best of moods; what with the inconvenience of having to pack so many things, coupled with the strain of lifting and transporting them, just to find that at the end of it all something useful was still forgotten; he'd need to purchase dental floss.

Father and son had gone into the sewing room to talk for a long time and had gone to bed afterwards.

Clearly, there'd been some sort of emotional discourse...

But Arthur hadn't seen fit to enlighten him about it.

He entered the kitchen to find Arthur setting down a bowl of porridge before Alfred.

The child pulled a face at the breakfast meal and Rhys couldn't blame him.

It looked vile.

"Now, you're absolutely certain you can manage?" Arthur asked as they walked out the hall to the front door, away from small ears.

Rhys studied the deep bags under Arthur's eyes; his brother was exhausted.

"We've been having a pixie infestation. If any appear, you have my blessing to stake iron all around the place."

Rhys felt his eyes bug out, but Arthur adored fae coming to visit!

Arthur went on to vent:"They're trying to bypass me. I won't stand for it. I know exactly the sort of mischief they're capable of and Alfred is still...The last thing I need is for him to get injured tree climbing or romping about the garden trying to impress them. God, if he fell..." He took a steadying breath "Are you certain you can manage?"

"Yes" Rhys insisted "You filled out the forms I sent you. I have one for my use and you have one for your records-"

"Y-yes" Arthur replied doubtfully. "It's just...I apologize for the short notice and I...realize you...don't have much experience and I-"

Wales felt his eyebrow lift incredulously.

Didn't have experience?

Eire and Alba had made similar disparaging remarks when he'd told them he was watching over their nephew.

He was starting to feel annoyed.

Yes, he seldom volunteered for the often overly romanticized task of childminding, but it didn't mean he was incapable.

He'd watched over his brothers often when they were small and their Mam was out.

Later on when Arthur was expanding their family by colonizing territories, Rhys was usually the one in charge of hiring their tutors.

He made it a priority to know what subjects they needed to be instructed in and in what order: Australia was a morning person so his more difficult subjects needed to be taught then, while Barbados excelled in the afternoon.

He also took great pains to ensure each child was allotted time to practice the arts or indulge in a hobby.

Academics were all fine and good and necessary, but singing, drawing, dancing, and music were equally so.

Usually he'd written their caretakers studiously to keep up with their curriculum and current interests.

That way if Arthur was detained during an important holiday or birthday, they'd receive an appropriate individualized gift.

He indicated his clipboard, "I have everything scheduled."

Arthur stared at it unconvinced and then turned to contemplate his reflection in the hallway mirror.

"Rhys…" he murmured tiredly, straightening his tie.

"Yes?"

"Please... _ **please**_ be gentle with him."

Rhys blinked. Eire had said something similar: _'Don't beat him to death with your bloody book o' rules. He's a free spirit, Rhys. Free! Ya best embrace it!'_

He sniffed.

Yes, he liked order, and he might not have been as carefree as his brothers, but he was hardly an ogre!

He certainly didn't want to worsen relations between himself and Alfred which weren't, he was loathe to admit, particularly good...Despite the large role he'd taken in rescuing Alfred from his captors.

Part of the reason, he'd volunteered for today's task was that he didn't want to be estranged. It was just...the way things had been left during the War of 1812…

And his own anger and anger on Arthur's behalf and on Alistair's as well…

Scotland still hadn't really received an apology for the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders Regiment.

In the years that passed, his anger had evolved into a bitter resentment and a matter of fact reasoning that Alfred practically existed to harm the family.

Childish, immature, and with a streak of cruelty (he'd witnessed many times where he'd deliberately goad Arthur during trade meetings) he'd written him off as an ungrateful, rude young man…

But that was where things got complicated...

He'd never been a man at all, rather he'd been a child masquerading as one.

It explained a lot and made all the expectations Rhys had held him to entirely unrealistic...which made all shades of guilt set in.

Because he done virtually nothing to prevent his capture...and the fact that he was a child…

Feeling the boy flounder around-reaching out for help…His magic so weak and untrained and malnourished...it was like dealing with an infant that desperately wanted to roll over and reach that milestone...and couldn't.

And he had to be careful how involved he became; much the same way lifeguards had to be careful not to sink along with drowning victims, empaths had to be wary of such chaotic signatures.

England had shocked him by charging straight into the foray despite being a complete amateur in the realm of empathic abilities-which had resulted in a multitude of uncomfortable side effects. Ones Wales had been intent to avoid.

Sometimes it still alarmed him how fiercely attached Arthur became in so little time, if the child _had_ returned to the land…

The psychic backlash he would've endured…

Rhys still felt the occasional twinge from Mother's death.

"Alfred, I'm leaving!" Arthur called.

The child rushed out of the kitchen at breakneck speed and barrelled into Arthur.

Rhys barely refrained from releasing a squawk of indignation as he was nearly bowled over.

He looked to Arthur expectantly; awaiting some manner of disciplinary action which he could later mimic should Alfred misbehave.

But Arthur simply knelt down to better hug the boy-one hand petting the child's hair comfortingly.

So then...he took it that...the talk went well...and...things were mending.

Good.

Arthur had certainly agonized over their relationship long enough. It was high time he began seeing some sort of return on it. It couldn't all be on Arthur. Alfred needed to do his part too.

Still...

It was...a bit odd though…watching his brother practically melt in the embrace of two scrawny little arms.

He wasn't usually very demonstrative with his affections. Had he read about it in a self-help article and was giving it a go?

Hmm...Hong Kong probably wouldn't appreciate it.

"My cell will be on all day" Arthur informed the child quietly "If you need me for any reason, any at all-call me. Don't hesitate. Please..."

There was a dutiful nod.

The embrace tightened.

"I'll be checking in on you too. So keep your phone with you, alright poppet?"

Rhys eyed the clock.

Arthur...really needed to go.

His brother sighed and rested his cheek atop of Alfred's golden hair as he told him to be good and patient with Rhys (which made Rhys frown; he wasn't incompetent thank you) and that he loved him.

Being privy to such a tender moment made the Welshman's face heat up. He immediately cleared his throat and informed Arthur he was going to be late.

Arthur scowled at him, took up his briefcase, checked his watch, and reluctantly left.

Rhys sighed.

He would admit that they were off to a bit of an awkward start as he sat across from the child in the kitchen-each frowning at his bowl of porridge. Why Arthur felt compelled to poison them both...

The child heaved a sigh-deciding to risk a bite. He slurped a mouthful.

"Side of your spoon" Rhys instructed.

The child's brows drew together a bit rebelliously before he acquiesced.

Rhys tentatively sipped his own.

Blech. Burnt. Thin. Watery. Disgusting.

Without another word he whisked both bowls; unintentionally startling the child who gasped in surprise.

"Sorry. I'll make us something edible."

Within a few well-spent minutes he boiled some nice, thick oatmeal and poured it into two fresh bowls on the table.

He and Alistair had used the centuries to perfect their recipes-his was still better. Reilley would side with Alistair just to spite him, but if he won over Alfred they'd be even again.

He received a quiet "thanks" and then the silence returned. Or at least until Alfred began scraping at the bottom of his bowl.

Rhys frowned. He really had no table manners at all, did he?

"Did something bad happen between us?" Alfred asked abruptly "I don't like you. And you don't like me. I get it. But I can't remember why, and I think you do."

"I don't...dislike you…" Rhys murmured.

He just wasn't his favorite colon-er-former territory...that much was just being honest.

Alfred had always been too forward, too loud, too brazen, too rebellious.

But it wasn't as though he hated him. The two of them were just very different.

He'd noted those differences back when he'd first the met little colony-assuming he'd grow accustomed to them...and he did.

He'd actually doted on him quite a bit when he was very small.

And then eventually he'd met Canada...and doted on him a bit more; they just had more in common.

But even if he wasn't a favorite, it didn't mean he was an...well...an unfavorite.

Regardless of their many differences...they were family. And if he could survive his obnoxious brothers, he could certainly handle Alfred.

"Come on now, I'm not cotton candy. I can take it, dude."

"We had a confrontation during the war" Rhys admitted.

"Kay. Um...which one?"

"...1812."

"Oh! Okay. I don't remember that one that good-"

"-well-"

"So it's not like you're holding a grudge for like...I don't know...me spitting in your gruel during WWI?"

"Did you?"

"Uh...No?"

Rhys shook his head and took a deep breath, "In Essex."

"Right! The shipyard burning! The British forces made a strategic move by focusing-" Alfred recited.

"Alfred…"

"-promised not to harm the townsfolk so long as the militia stood by and-"

 _ **Recited**_...

Rhys felt his eyebrows furrow.

He'd been there…

Alfred had been there…

And yet…

"Ha! Did you know that they celebrate it? As their _'worse day in history'_?

"You arrived to try and fight us off."

"Hm. That sounds like me" Alfred replied dipping a finger into the bowl for a last bit of oatmeal.

"You failed."

Alfred shrugged "I tried at least."

Rhys sighed and offered what was left in his own bowl. The child ecstatically accepted.

"We...we fought. The men didn't but we...I...injured you in the shoulder with my knife and you...well you...you broke my leg."

"Ohhhh" the child nodded as if that explained everything under the sun "So that's why you hate me. Fair enough. Did I break it with my bare hands like Chuck Norris?"

"I wouldn't say that I hate-What? No-I-"

"Dude, it's cool. I'm not fishing for a half-assed apology. It was war and we were enemies. Thanks for just being upfront. I kept wondering why I always felt so jittery around you. You shanked me, that's what it is" he snapped his fingers " _ **That's**_ why you seem so scary."

Rhys stared at him for a moment and looked away and then down. That...wasn't…

Scary?

Surely not…

He was just reserved...

He wasn't...scary.

* * *

Rhys sighed as he washed out the ornate teapot he wanted to use for afternoon tea.

The morning had been largely spent making a trip to the grocers, which took much longer than it ought to have. It seemed like he was constantly having to tell Alfred to return whatever it was he'd brought over to show him back to where he'd found it. Along with the importance of not talking to strangers, not approaching strange dogs, not stepping on shelves to improve his reach, and not fussing when Rhys wouldn't buy him a sweet.

Once home, he encouraged Alfred to play with the special coloring book Arthur had made him while he checked his emails.

He remembered Arthur spamming the lot of them with requests for appropriate activities and early lesson plans. And then getting angry at them for choosing things that were too advanced.

He planned on discussing Numerology with the boy that afternoon. He could then gauge for himself what Alfred's skill level was and report it to his brothers. When they'd both visited him the previous week, Scotland had voiced his concern that Arthur was coddling the boy unnecessarily.

" _If he applies himself, he's a quick study" Alistair asserted. "But if he's not applying himself, I say we sic Reilley on him. Nothing like Irish tears to get that Hero Complex activated and-"_

" _I hate to say it, but it's true" Reilley shrugged "I_ _ **do**_ _think I could motivate him if I cried. It won't be pretty-"_

" _Ack! Ya never are."_

" _D'ya even look in the mirror?"_

" _What are you on about, I'm the handso-"_

" _Yeh, soulless Ginger-"_

" _Ack, you! You're a Ginger yeh barmy-"_

" _Ain't as soulless as you!"_

" _Guess you need more practice then, ya lazy-"_

" _ **Or.**_ _..we could move forward without emotional blackmail. I could talk to him" Rhys argued "like a normal person, and monitor his progress myself."_

 _They grumbled but eventually agreed._

As it was, he actually had a good feeling regarding Alfred and magic.

When he'd pulled out his wallet to pay the cashier at the grocery store, blue eyes had been fascinated by it.

On the walk home, he let the child look at it. It was dragonhide.

The fact that he'd noticed that it was different, even if he didn't know exactly why was a positive sign.

Meant he was listening to his instincts.

He was also pleased to find that despite the boy's assertion that he didn't like Rhys, it didn't prevent him from being happy to assist him in baking. Though he jotted a note for Arthur that in the future it would be prudent to get him an apron that fit. He'd dirtied his outfit during the task and Rhys made him change before he served lunch.

Lunch though…

Lunch was an ordeal.

 _The child frowned heavily at his meal._

" _Is it not to your taste?"_

 _Leek and potato soup was usually a meal that all of the children could stomach well. He'd even gone an extra step and put a bit of bacon on Alfred's portion. Americans loved bacon._

" _That's all? That can't be all. And there's not enough for seconds...Wha-Where's my sandwich?"_

 _Rhys had deflected that with "We'll be having afternoon tea."_

" _...but…that's...I don't...still...hungry..."_

 _He raised a bushy eyebrow, and the child backed down._

Or so he'd thought.

Really, he just went quiet for the sake of scheming.

When Arthur called an hour later to "check in" the child dramatically railed that Rhys was "starving him."

" _I've had TWO liquid meals in a row! And I'm still hungry, but he says I can't have more! SaysthattherewillbeteabutIdon'tdrinkteayouknowIdon'tdrink teawon'tevenletmehaveabiscuittoholdmeovertillyougethome!"_

 _He nodded twice, murmured "Kay" and then handed his cellphone over, "Dad wants to talk to you."_

Needless to say, he was very surprised that Arthur didn't admonish the boy for being melodramatic. Instead, Arthur had seethed over the phone-hissing in no uncertain terms that he did NOT want his child losing any more weight.

His following words were: _"For Christ's sake, you let him into that pantry if he's hungry! Or a liquid diet is all you'll be capable of once I'm through with you!"_

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Victorian Ballad: "The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inaccuracies (historically, culturally, grammatically). More feels. Rhys IS the uncontested King of Awkward Social Interactions. In America, it's "ketchup," in the U.K. it's "red sauce" which is confusing for Americans because "red sauce" is what we call red pasta sauce. Mentions of Rome and with it a less than flattering alternate views of North and South Italy back when Grandpa reigned supreme. Some artistic license...because I could easily envision him trying to toughen the kids up by taking them to the Colosseum. Cakes in cups...known today as cupcakes have been around since 1795-ish. Way back in the day, hot chocolate used to have its own special pot and cups (every bit as fancy as a tea set-it's interesting because on average the chocolatepot seems to be much taller than a teapot). I kinda wish it would come back into style :( for those of us who are exiles of the tea and coffee world.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! I've been thrilled to see so much interest in me continuing this fic. XD Now I've got a couple of other projects to tackle with Easter creeping up and whatnot, so this'll probably be the only update for the week. But let's go ahead and start the week right!

 **Chapter 22: Rome's Prisoner**

* * *

Alfred scooped an unnecessarily large glob of ketchup with his chicken nugget.

Rhys was sitting across from him cleaning a three tier serving tray.

Curiosity continued to niggle at him. Usually, Alfred only used those for parties and holidays. He kinda assumed Arthur was the same. What was he up to?

"Whatcha doing?" He tried to ask casually as he took a slurp from his cherry flavored juice box.

Rhys sighed, "You don't know what _Afternoon Tea_ entails at all, do you?"

"It entails... _ **Tea**_ " He spat it like it was a dirty word...which made Rhys raise an eyebrow at him.

"And sandwiches," Rhys continued "and cakes, and sweets, and scones-"

" _ **English Scones**_ " another dirty word.

To his surprise the corner of the man's mouth seemed to twitch, "No, Welsh Scones...which won't be burnt. And should they be, rest assured I won't guilt you into eating them. They'll go straight where they belong: in the bin."

"Hmm…"

It was kinda sad actually. Arthur wanted so badly for people to enjoy his cooking but the dude could burn water.

He felt a twinge of guilt for agreeing with Rhys and watched morosely as the Welshman gathered supplies for another round of baking.

Alfred nibbled at another nugget.

Arthur hadn't even gotten angry at him for running off yesterday. He knew it could be annoying. Sometimes, Tex would get so vexed when he pulled a houdini depending on the situation...that he'd give Al the cold shoulder. Which for someone as chatty as his brother took a hell of a lot of effort and let him know he was in big trouble.

After they'd toweled off and changed clothes, because Arthur didn't want them to make a mess, he unlocked the door to the sewing room.

" _I usually keep it locked so Camelot can't cause mayhem."_

 _The place was teeming with sewing, knitting, embroidering, and crocheting supplies._

 _There were even a huge loom with a half-made tapestry on it._

" _You're like the 'Lady of Shalott'" he muttered._

 _Arthur didn't snark like he expected him too, he was busy shooing away a wet, flustered Camelot from the door._

 _There were several mannequins stationed here and there: A man one, a woman one, and a child one. All with adjustable knobs._

" _I can't tell if they're more or less creepy by not having heads...and...wait...why do you have a girl one?"_

" _Wot?"_

" _...Dad?"_

" _Barbados and I enjoy having project days. We enjoy going to festivals." The Briton's lips turned up gently at the memory "We usually make a day of it. Lots of movies and plays. Last year we had a Game of Thrones marathon that-"_

" _Oh" Alfred replied relieved._

" _Why?"_

" _Uhhhhhhhh...no reason."_

 _Still…it also made him a little melancholy; they seemed to only watch movies and T.V. together._

 _He knew from Facebook that Arthur would go fishing and boating with Australia, New Zealand, and Hong Kong. He'd go skiing with Canada every so often and now he knew he did arts-n-crafts with Barbados._

 _While that was great news for Hawaii who was always looking for craft buddies/rivals. It didn't do Alfred a lot of good._

" _Now I think we need to continue where we left off and-"_

" _I've never been in here before" he shamelessly stalled-running around the room to gawk at different projects in various states of completion._

 _Arthur nodded, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall; waiting for Alfred to get the curiosity out of his system before getting down to business._

 _The determined look in his green eyes and the way he was seemed to be subconsciously or...maybe consciously...guarding the door aka Alfred's route of escape, made it clear he wanted to finish that conversation no matter how mushy and messy it got._

 _Alfred...just needed a couple more minutes._

 _The child-sized sewing dummy kept catching his eye._

 _He approached it and abruptly carried it over from where it had been exiled in a corner and set it between the two adult ones, "There. A creepy little family."_

 _Arthur's mouth opened a little as he looked at it thoughtfully-over at the corner where it had been and then to where it was now and then Alfred himself._

 _He half-expected the Old Man to move it back because he'd totally moved it without asking permission._

 _Instead, he got up and set it a bit closer to the Father mannequin._

" _You want to name the little one?"_

 _Alfred stared._

" _Ol' man Jack" Arthur clapped a hand on the male mannequin. "I...I name each one that. I s'pose it's because of all the Jack's in nursery rhymes and what not. Olivia named that one Marina. We...we joke that she never did outgrew her love of dolls and Marina is the proof!"_

 _Alfred shrugged. Kay...whatever._

" _Oh come now, we haven't gotten around to naming that one yet. Hasn't gotten to see a project, you know? If you're_ interested. Couldn't _get Wy or Sealand to take an interest in a sewing adventure. What do you say, pet?"_

" _..._ _ **Boy**_ _."_

" _Hm?"_

" _Call it Boy...for now."_

 _Arthur frowned, "Needs a real name."_

 _Alfred poked at a knob, "Boy'll work 'til I think of something…"_

" _Can't name him 'Boy'" Arthur tutted._

" _Yeah, you can. Guys are named Guy. And you call me Boy."_

 _Arthur sighed, "I thought we went over this while we were in the midst of peril. I say it as a pet name: "My Boy." Though it's true I sometimes shorten it to "Boy." You however, view the title…" he shook his head "I can tell simply by the tone you used...so why-"_

 _Alfred fidgeted, "If you don't have a name, it's descriptive. It's a bookmark. You asked me so...it's Boy for now."_

 _It'd be fine. Alfred's default human name had been "Boy" for almost the whole first century of his life. When you didn't have a name...it was...fine. It was after you had one, that it became annoying._

" _You…" Arthur shook his head and led him over to the work table. He cleared it of several patterns and books-inspecting it four times for any loose needles and then lifted Alfred to sit on it._

 _Arthur pushed the chair back from the work space and took a seat-giving Alfred enough space so he could swing his legs._

 _England then pulled a basket over with his foot and took out a hank of yarn._

 _Practically on autopilot Alfred spaced his hands apart and Arthur set the loop around them. The Briton then began handwinding the yarn into a center-pull ball. They did this a lot when Alfred was little...at least until Mathieu entered the picture and it became clear the Canadian didn't fidget as much._

" _Nice blue" Alfred commented._

" _Thank you. Now…before we were interrupted-"_

" _I'm feeling better now, we don't-"_

 _Geez, he really didn't think he could handle another heart to heart tonight. Dude, he'd almost blabbered his whole diabolical plan!_

" _You are not less" England declared._

" _H-huh?"_

" _What's happened in no way diminishes you."_

" _How can you say that?" He grumbled "When there's all these things I can't do now and-"_

" _There's plenty of things I can't do" Arthur replied "I'll never be terribly gifted at origami no matter how many times Kiku walks me through it. Sonnets are pretty much the only poetic measure I've real talent for. I'm awful at Villanelles. And I can't even imagine myself attempting to ride one of your ridiculous mechanical bulls. Do you think I'm less of a person because of-"_

" _You can do other things! You sail and swordfi-"_

" _And if I couldn't?"_

" _But you can! You always could-"_

" _No, I couldn't. You didn't know me then, that's true" he snickered self-deprecatingly "Suffice to say, I wasn't born holding a cutlass while steering a helm."_

" _But-"_

" _Do you suppose I was lesser back then?"_

" _..." His throat closed up on him._

" _Would you have cared to know me then?"_

 _Alfred very nearly dropped the yarn-upset to be asked such a blasphemous question. England knowing how to fight was cool but…_

 _Waking up to the smell of breakfast burning and knowing Arthur hadn't had to leave in the middle of the night to resolve a dispute...the way Osha often did._

 _Having his pillows fluffed for the millionth time because he was ill and cranky and Arthur just did it better._

 _Falling into a muddy puddle and ruining his good clothes, because a horse nearby had spooked and charged way too close to them and Alfred had panicked and tripped. And Arthur picked him up and carried him home-not even caring as the mud on Alfred ruined his own fine clothes as well._

 _Make no mistake watching Arthur practice with his sword was in a word: epic._

 _But...that wasn't the reason he'd held the man in such esteem._

" _I…"_

" _Or perhaps I'd have embarrassed you. To be related to the likes of me when I was unskilled and quaint. Perhaps, you would've shunned-OOF!"_

 _The chair teetered on its hind legs before Arthur quickly threw his weight forward to balance it back on the floor._

 _Dammit. Alfred felt his face heat up. God, he really did have a penchant for making things crazy-dramatic. Without a thought he'd leapt off the desk and into England's lap._

 _Oh well..._

" _No...no...you'd still be England. You were still England even after the cities were ruined."_

 _Remembering arriving in London, there to save the day because he sure as hell was too late to save the city._

" _That's right. I'm England. I'm Arthur, always. And you're still America...Alfred...No matter what."_

 _He cupped the back of Alfred's head, "Alfred. You are more than your skill set. More than your occupation. More than a uniform. Be Alfred. That's all you need to be."_

Alfred wasn't sure if he totally believed that or not. There was so much his government...his allies...everyone expected out of him.

To suddenly be unable to deliver…

There were going to be fall out, frustration, consequences.

Still, it was a pretty thing to hear.

It reminded him of something Tex had told him back when they were just really starting to bond.

It was 1840, Tex was staying with him while they discussed some of the final details in opening a Texan Embassy in Washington, D.C. the following year.

March 2nd...should've gone differently. He'd orchestrated the damn thing weeks in advance but alas...his birthday plans for his brother fell through in the worse way possible.

His aides caught a virus passing through, the baker's wife went into labor and he dropped the cake in his haste to leave, almost all of the guests couldn't attend at the last minute for various reasons, and the special speech he'd made Texas to celebrate his brother's newly won freedom and their strengthening ties was ruined spectacularly when one of his coworker's two year old daughter (who shouldn't have been anywhere near his desk) got a hold of it and decided to eat half of it.

Yes. She ate it.

And then to his horror, he ended up ranting about the whole fiasco to Texas himself.

To his surprise Texas' ultimate reaction was:

" _Why...are you tryin' to be fancy with me? Givin' me heebie jeebies, actin' all weird and unlike yourself...when was this stuff important to you?"_

" _I was...I was just trying… wanted it...perfect...for you."_

 _Because if Tex had been Mathieu or Arthur, they would've been gravely disappointed by the blundering of a special event._

" _So that's where you were all morning" Texas mused as he rolled a cigarette. "I was gettin' worried. Shoulda just come back and lemme know that this was what it was all about."_

" _But-but…I wanted-"_

" _I'll put a sign on the door to say it's cancelled. And we can go out riding!"_

" _But…"_

" _I don't need strangers makin' a fuss over me."_

" _But I wanted to show you...how import-"_

" _Good. Then we can celebrate my way cuz it's still my birthday, right? And what_ _ **I**_ _want is for us to go riding. I got you, if you'll be you and not fancypants United States."_

 _As Alfred stared, he dropped the wet, slightly mushy top half of the speech he'd managed to salvage from the toddler._

" _Geez, stop acting like the world ended cuz a cake got dropped, we'll have a good time. I know it. 'Sides, you can make me those cakes-in-cups things tomorrow. I like your food better than his anyway. Now go find somethin' else to wear. So formal-God, feel like I've been dragged into Court or somethin.'"_

He lazily drew a design with his nugget in the ketchup.

Rhys sniffed "You really shouldn't play with your fo-Ah, you've been practising that knot, then?"

"...y-yeah."

"The "Strength Knot." Quite useful. A very practical place to start. That one along with a "Healing Knot" would be good for you to get in the habit of drawing. Has Arthur told you to memorize that one?"

"No...I...I just like this one...I haven't shown him yet. I wanna get it a little...better."

Rhys looked at it and shrugged, "It's drawn well enough to serve its purpose."

"But I want it to be gooood" he stressed "To impress him."

"Well, I for one believe it will naturally be more impressive drawn on paper rather than in red sauce. I know where Arthur keeps some of his art supplies, if you'd like to make that one for him. I'm certain he'd appreciate it."

* * *

Rhys pulled out a small dark blue notebook from his pocket.

He had a myriad of Post It notes in it that he used as dividing tabs. He selected the small pale blue one and opened to its first page which was titled "Difficulties."

He made his first note: _Food-relationship=complex._

 _-Symbolic of freedom/restriction._

 _\- Persisting fears of starvation._

He nodded to himself. Important. Very important to know.

He'd need to write out another series of questions for Arthur to answer to the best of his abilities regarding Alfred. He realized to his own embarrassment, that he'd really only asked rudimentary questions.

He'd need to be much more thorough in the future.

Though he was a bit annoyed Arthur hadn't bothered to warn him-allowing him to be villainized so easily.

Arthur had practically demonized him over the phone for being insensitive to his phobia (a phobia Rhys didn't know he had until Arthur explained);he just didn't want him getting too full to enjoy the Welsh cakes they'd made.

When Australia had been small, he'd given himself tummy aches by overindulging...and...well...eating things that weren't supposed to be eaten.

He placed the book back in his pocket. He had a collection of these in his study back home for each important figure in his life. The old one he'd had for America was woefully outdated and while he'd brought it along (just in case any of it was still relevant), he'd gone ahead and purchased a new one.

The more information he gleaned and recorded, the better he could adjust the situation.

There was always room for adjustment-one went in with a basic tactic and let it evolve as it came into contact with other factors at work.

Alfred had been practically underfoot the entire time he set out the table for the two of them.

Staring at the ornate teapot, the elegant silverware, the finely decorated porcelain cups.

"Are you certain you don't want to try any tea at all? There are many different blends."

"I don't like it" Alfred frowned as he broke numerous protocol to devour a Welsh cake "I just don't like tea. It tastes bad and it gives me bad memories."

Hmm. Yes. That Boston Tea Party ordeal...or perhaps the taxes...or perhaps Arthur just brewed it terribly then and it left a lasting impression...or maybe it was the water itself then...rather dirty...

After checking and rechecking and re-rechecking Arthur's pantry, he'd ended up grumbling, "I can't believe he doesn't have a chocolate pot and cups".

Alfred watched him bustle around with wide eyes, "I...I dunno if people even make those any more…"

"All the more reason Arthur should have one" he muttered "...loves collecting things and showing 'em off."

The child scuffed a foot on the ground, "...Hey Strawberry?"

"That is NOT my name" Rhys replied, head deep in a cupboard.

"Does England...does England...think I'm incompetent? Is that why he keeps having people babysit me?"

Rhys looked up, bumping his head and abandoning his quest for a hot chocolate cup.

"You okay?"

"Yes...do...do you want an honest opinion?"

Alfred took a deep breath, "Yeah."

"I don't know."

"Gah!"

"I suppose it's not unreasonable to think that he doesn't want to be accused of child neglect. Though I daresay it's more to do with recent events-"

"I'm America and I can watch out for mys-"

"You're America alright, and six months ago despite being a full grown man with Herculean strength you were unable to rescue yourself."

The child's face grew pained.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek, much too harsh.

' _Please be gentle.'_

"So...he _**doesn't**_ think I can handle myself?"

Rhys shrugged, "Personally...I think it's more to do with him than you."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Er...I...your...father…"

And it was at times difficult of thinking of Arthur as that: a parent.

When it didn't seem that long ago that he was frantically trying to rock an infant Albion, slap a teasing Eire's hands away, and keep Alba from running off while Mam was in the village over.

The child leaned in close-giving Rhys his full attention.

They were such sharp eyes-jewel like-and as hard as Albion's pair of emeralds.

Rhys sighed, "I think Arthur's still having nightmares and it's affecting his judgment and actions."

"Y-yeah...I think I saw him have one back in November."

"I think he's…" terrified "concerned that Iroquois will somehow break into his house and...spirit you away."

"She was trying to help" Alfred grumbled.

Rhys stared.

"I mean...yeah, in the worst kind of-look...she was trying to help. She knew I wasn't doing so good and that I wasn't gonna listen to magic mumbo jumbo. But if you guys could just see that-"

"Alfred...has anyone told you...precisely what she did to..." Rhys forged on "To Arthur."

"Yeah, she sent him mean texts-"

"She psychologically tortured him, Alfred. She held you hostage, forced us to perform a complex surgery in an appalling environment-"

"That I had to have!"

"That you could've had in a proper hospital."

"..."

"Mesmerized Canada into attacking him."

Alfred stared at his feet.

"And from what Canada told me, tried to manipulate you into attacking him as well-"

"But I wouldn't-"

"No, but your refusal very nearly cost you your li-"

"But I'm fine. I made it!" Alfred insisted.

"I can only imagine Arthur's horror when you pointed that gun-"

"I wouldn't have shot him!"

"It wasn't himself he was worried about" Rhys argued sternly.

"..."

"I've tried talking to him about it twice-gives him tremors. The way discussing the Blitz does."

"...I..I would've regenerated..."

"I don't think Arthur would've been comforted by that."

"When you...tick it all off like that…"

He was having a real difficulty seeing Osha for the cold blooded tactician she was-regardless of whatever level of affection she held for him.

And Alfred...brought so low by his experience had entered a survival mode that required him to bond with his captor to maintain some sense of safety. Had Arthur delved into that aspect at all?

"You just don't understand" he snapped.

"No. I don't" Rhys readily agreed. "I know only what I've experienced and what I've been told."

"Exactly" he spat "she took care of me before...before Arthur."

"Did she now?"

"YES. When...when she could...when her people didn't need her."

"And when they needed her? Who took care of you then?"

"Arthur went away too you know! He's not perfect!"

"No, he isn't. I'm sorry to hear he abandoned you. I thought he would've left a caretaker in his abse-"

"Well, sometimes they died and...and…and-"

"Ah, yes, that is unfortunate. I'm disappointed in him-that he wouldn't leave you any means of supporting yourself in the case of an emergen-"

"Yeah...he usually left money...and stuff…though there was one time...where we ran outta everything...and the Governors wouldn't help me and I just...Saunee helped me then. Taught me how to shoot and hunt..."

"Important skills."

"Probably the most important ones anybody ever taught me!" Alfred asserted defensively. "Usually all the important stuff I have to teach myself!"

Rhys watched him closely. He supposed having forgotten what history they shared together-made it easier for the boy to vent at him. Which was...actually good.

Judging from the aura he'd become accustomed to in (what Arthur now insisted be named) Kirkland Hall and his own amount of divination readings regarding his nephew. Alfred had trouble expressing himself in a healthy productive way which usually resulted in the feeling becoming so terribly powerful it released itself in a destructive behavior-inward or outward.

He needed a level headed, somewhat indifferent, and unyielding presence to help guide him. One that wouldn't cower or retaliate based on what Alfred expressed. The relationships the child had with others were too fragile for him to risk revealing the ferocity of his emotions and how swiftly he could cycle through them.

Rhys was fair game.

And goodness...there was a lot of anger there. Time to see how far it extended and how intensely focused on Arthur it was.

"Personally," Rhys admitted "I never felt Arthur was an exceedingly gifted tutor. I remember Scotland and I would worry over yours and Mathieu's educations-certain that Arthur was doing a piss-poor job."

Would Alfred leap at the chance to ally himself with someone who was also critical of Arthur?

"...I...I didn't say that…" the boy mumbled, expression becoming blank.

His defenses were going up, Rhys decided to push a bit further anyway…

He'd learn a lot depending on how Alfred reacted.

"It's probably a wonder you managed to become literate with the likes of him at the helm. I remember when we rescued him from Rome-all he had to show for his years of being under that tyrant were a few poorly penned phrases in Latin and that bizarre Roman Numeral system. I for one was particularly glad when the Arabic Numbering system made it's way over and-"

"No...stop...don't talk like..." Alfred hid his face in his hands.

One moment ago, Arthur had been the focus of his wrath and now...

"I don't like thinking about him as Rome's prisoner" he sniffled.

Rhys sighed, eyes resting on the boy's downturned head, "Ah chwb, your father felt the same."

Alfred's startled, tearful expression confirmed what Rhys suspected; that despite being captured and held at the mercy of Iroquois and Yamasee.

He had quite a bit of trouble reconciling himself to being viewed in those terms.

* * *

England abruptly left the meeting as Johanne fumbled around with a projector to give a (what England already knew would be an incredibly dull presentation because Johanne was as about as fascinating as watching wallpaper peel over several decades) report on the housing crisis.

He stormed over to his office.

Alfred was reaching for him.

What in God's name was Wales doing to him now?

Furious and worried he immediately dialed his boy-eyes intent on the rose plant adorning his desk. It had undergone more new growth in the time he'd been away. Fresh new leaves were unfurling in response to Alfred's magical tending.

They needed that potential nurtured, dammit, NOT threatened.

" _H-hello?"_ A small voice weakly answered.

His heartbeat raced and his hand found purchase on the edge of his desk, "What's wrong?"

" _...huh?"_

"What is it? What's wrong? You're upset."

" _No...I…"_ there was a large gulp of air _"it's nothing,"_ Then there was a sniffle and Arthur's grip steadily tightened until the corner of his desk splintered-tipping off a secretary that had been entering the office with a file in her hands, to promptly turn and walk away.

"Did he say something to hurt you?" He demanded.

" _N-no."_

He swallowed down his frustration to achieve a more gentle, inviting tone, "Talk to me, won't you?"

" _...Was it_ _ **real**_ _bad? Was Rome mean to you? Did he tie you up? Were you okay?"_

"Wot?"

 _Damnation Wales! Why the hell would you bring up the Roman Empire? Was he mad?_

" _But you were okay, right? Cuz you were tough like me, right? And the heroes always make it out!"_

"Yes, Wales and Scotland snuck in with the Visigoths and during the sack of Rome they smuggled me out."

" _...and you were okay?"_

Memories he'd rather not dwell on resurfaced.

 _He'd been small and holding the fan had been awkward and difficult. Especially when Romano sometimes pelted him with grapes just for the hell of it-snickering when it made him cry or when he slipped on them._

 _Stupid lace-up-your-leg sandals were so different from the reliable boots and slippers he was used to._

 _God, waiting on the Italies was awful. Romano was a bully in his orders and Feliciano, while not half as mean-spirited as his brother, would make worse ones-impossible whimsical ones that he couldn't hope to achieve. And often it meant he'd be harshly disciplined when he failed._

 _More than once he'd accidentally hit them with the fan as he got caught up watching the gladiators below. The Colosseum had frightened and thrilled him with its fierce competitors, it's occasional exotic animal matches, and its ever bloodthirsty spectators._

 _Rome had told him pointblank that it was a privilege for him to attend, as only citizens and Freedmen were supposed to be allowed to watch._

 _Later he would blame it a bit for instilling such a strong desire for power in him. However, i_ _t seemed to have the opposite effect on the Italy brothers who tended to shy away from looking off the balcony._ _They'd much preferred the theatre and chariot events._

 _Albion thought they were weak to avert their eyes and cower from the brutality._

Years later, after becoming a caretaker-he'd look back on the events with different eyes. He couldn't have imagined forcing any of his colonies to attend something like that. And he was actually rather angry that Rome forced the three children to watch. It also made him glad that his last jousting tournament was on 1625 to celebrate Charles I's marriage. Alfred never got to see one-instead he got to fantasize through bloodless poetry and legend where the reality of someone being impaled wasn't nearly as graphic.

 _At the moment though, he'd had far too much fury in him to sympathize._ _Rome had essentially made him his grandsons' plaything._

 _All of them pushing him around, dragging him here and there, calling him names, spilling things on him._

 _He'd had the last laugh with his chief tormentor though; he may have left "Master" Romano's hand in a warm bowl of water enough times to establish a habit of bedwetting that lasted centuries._

 _The fact that Spain (who would become his rival) had to deal with it was the icing on the cake._

" _You were okay?!"_ Alfred repeated desperately. So genuinely concerned about something that had happened so very long ago that Arthur couldn't help but reach into the drawer of his desk and pull out the small framed photo of Roanoke.

"Yes, Sweetheart" he assured-smiling at the photo, "I was alright."

There was an audible sigh of relief over the phone.

" _...cuz you're tough...like me…"_

"Indeed."

* * *

Rhys had to hold the phone far away from his ear.

Alfred looked up from his stack of finger sandwiches in surprise.

The Welshman motioned for him to continue eating while he left the table to enter the living room.

" _I told you to be gentle and you're blatantly initiating conversations about imprisonment?! For an Empath you sure as hell aren't showing him much empathy!"_

"I thought it would be obvious. He needs a role model. Someone who has already undergone a similar experience. I've opened a line of communication for the two of you. Knowing you've been in a similar state of disadvantage and rose above it will encourage him to draw parallels between the two of you and he will know that he can discuss it candidly with either of us."

He'd been relieved to conclude that most of Alfred's anger regarding Arthur was more frustration and hurt than wrath. Those were things that Arthur could confront, shoulder some responsibility for, and lay to rest.

"I've been studying his aura and while there are obstacles in the path of your relationship. He does love you-"

" _I KNOW he loves me! You git! He jumped off a bloody cliff to save me!"_

He blinked; he'd overheard the end of several conversations now, including his call with Alfred fifteen minutes ago. Arthur was quick to verbalize his love, but Alfred...

"...he doesn't articulate it well and I think-"

" _He's shy! He. Is. Shy. Stop bullying him for-oh bugger it all. I'm coming home-"_

"That isn't necessary-"

" _It obviously is, if you think it's acceptable to torment my child in my absence-"_

"Arthur. I assure you. I am no way 'tormenting' Alfred. We are reacquainting ourselves with one another. And this is...the...ungraceful, unimpressive, early...transitional period where our personality differences are being...recognized by one another. We just need more time to better understand and compromise-"

" _I will come home"_ his brother insisted, an ominous quality pervading his voice. _"And I will bring Alfred back to the office with me."_

Rhys was about to protest again when a small hand snatched the phone out of his hand.

"Dad?"

W-what?! Alfred had just-just grabbed it out of his hand!? No sense of respect at all!

"Yeah," he looked Rhys up and down "Yeah, he's kinda creepy like that."

Rhys's eye twitched.

"But he hasn't done anything. Yeah. Yeah. That's what I thought, but...I was wrong. I didn't know there was food in an 'Afternoon Tea.' No, I...I don't think I've been to one bef-yeah...I messed up. I'm sorry. I should've just asked him. Yeah. Yeah. We made Welsh cakes. I saved you one. And he used cookie cutters for my sandwiches. Mine are shaped like stars. Isn't that neat? Yeah," He danced from one foot to the other, "How's your meeting going? Is it boring?" He giggled. "Yeah? I made you a picture. Strawberry said it was pretty good and that you'd like it. I dunno, it's still kinda crooked."

Any annoyance he'd been feeling, reduced greatly as he realized that Alfred was talking Arthur down.

"Yeah, we're gonna have a magic lesson tonight. He asked me not too long ago when I usually did magic lessons and I told him how we've been doing them at night. You know me: I get afternoon slumps, so he changed his lesson plan to be an evening one instead. I was thinking though; I wanna build a pillow fort for magic lessons. Wouldn't that be neat and-awww, but it would be so cool. Pleeeeeeeease? Awwww."

Alfred reached down to give Camelot a pet behind the ears as the cat left its hiding place under the sofa to brush against his leg.

"No. I'm okay. I just got upset. No. I just forgot about you and Rome is all. It actually makes me glad-er wait, that didn't come out right! I mean. It's just...like you were...like you were...were saying last night...you...you were still you even after all that...and I...I'm still me and...that makes me...me feel...better. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Okay. Yeah. Uh-huh. Yes. I will. Yup. I'll see you tonight! Watch out for weirdos on your way home, kay, bye."

Rhys stared as Alfred handed him back the phone, "Okay, soooo he's gonna try to get out by eight and-"

"Thank you."

Alfred shrugged and fidgeted with his sleeves, "You...you didn't _**do**_ anything and he's biting your head off. That's...that's no fair. I...I think it's just because he feels bad about everything...and it's made him kinda...psycho-protective."

"That sounds...fairly accurate. Though I wouldn't be too hard on him. He has the best intentio-"

"I'm not a baby though" Alfred interrupted, brows drawn together fiercely.

Rhys did his best to keep a very straight, solemn face as he agreed. Despite the fact, that compared to Arthur or his brothers...he most certainly was.

A more positive topic of conversation was in order, especially if he wanted any chance of being trusted with babysitting Alfred in the future:

"How many hours do you think you need to construct, tear down, and stow away the materials of your blanket fort?"

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Artist Henry Fuseli. Or the show "You've Been Framed!" Or Pictionary. Or Dr. Who. Or various numerology websites. Or the Baby Whisperer. Or the Dog Whisperer. Or Pictionary. Or Costco.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Monroe Doctrine (1823). (1940s) Aleutian Islands Campaign. In which England hovers, Wales observes, and America holds his temper.

 **An:** Thank you for your reviews and well-wishes! It's good to see everyone fired up! To one reviewer: I think Reilley would have complicated feelings-proud of his people and sad to eventually lose hold of them. Hey Fionn Rose! Glad to see you're back. Now on the topic of food condiments...I need to understand...mushroom ketchup...Why?

Voting has started for _Christoph Andretti'_ s _**2016 Hetalia Awards**_. If you've got a spare minute, and you wanna show some love to _Wendigo_ (Thank you Incoming Penguins! ^_^ Your review was a perfect start to my day-I lol'ed so hard. Thank you to sunsetonmars too!)

 **Chapter 23:** **Protective Mother Hen**

* * *

It was with a great feeling of triumph, England entered the house one hour ahead of schedule. Practically a miracle.

The mouthwatering aroma of Shepherd's Pie led him to the kitchen where he expected to find Alfred mournfully staring at the oven in anticipation.

Instead-

"You're early" Rhys muttered, setting down a _Crafts-Beautiful_ magazine (that he must've snatched from Arthur's coffee table) on the counter. The space beside the stove had the ingredients for mushy peas.

If he didn't know better, he'd say his brother was trying to butter him up...or apologize...or something or other.

Regardless...he wasn't about to be deterred.

Arthur loosened his tie and took a deep breath as he prepped himself to launch into a very loud, very deserved tirade against Rhys's brutal approach to taking care of Alfred.

Yes, he knew there were many difficult conversations ahead in order for his son to properly heal. But having them back-to-back-to-back, they were going to exhaust him into a nervous collapse!

"Don't."

Arthur raised an eyebrow-incredulous that his brother would even try to sidestep this-

"I think he's still sleeping" Rhys' attention was on the living room, both of Arthur's eyebrows twitched as he took in the utter destruction his living room was in.

England slapped a hand to his forehead, "He wore you down then, hm?"

"We should've had another hour" Rhys rebutted.

Arthur's gait took on a military clip as he approached the entrance of the oversized blanket fort.

The room…

The poor room…

All of the surrounding furniture had been robbed of their cushions which had been put to use as a makeshift bouncy pathway leading up to...to a quilt, sheet, coverlet...monstrosity of clashing colors.

He crossed his arms and planted his feet as he stared down at the child who was snoozing among a pile of pillows.

"And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?"

It was difficult though...working any bite into his voice because...at the end of their phonecall...Alfred had referred to his father's English residence as "home."

It was such a small detail but...but considering how the boy usually called it "the house," "your house." Or would phrase Arthur's return as "coming back" rather than… "coming home."

It was monumentally important. Another breakthrough at last!

Because Arthur still very much considered his lodgings to be a home-away-from-home for all his former territories and colonies.

It was good that Alfred, even if it was only subconsciously, was deeming it a safe place.

However, that didn't mean Arthur was going to let the child walk all over him; there were still rules and boundaries to respect! Making his living room a wasteland, was NOT appreciated.

"Well?" Arthur demanded.

The boy lazily flopped over onto his back to squint up at Arthur.

Then realizing who was near, he smiled and reached his arms over his head to bestow a very awkward, likely uncomfortable, hug to Arthur's legs.

Arthur knelt down with a huff. He tapped his finger against the boy's forehead, "You naughty thing, I told you I didn't want a fort here."

Rather than receiving a shamefaced apology or acknowledgement of wrongdoing; the little blond's smile just widened and the arms went from latching around his legs to reaching for his shoulders.

Arthur hefted him into his arms and made his way over to the sofa. And then dumped him from enough height, so the child bounced against the cushions.

"Did I not implicitly-"

"It was weird not seeing you at lunch today" Alfred declared as he sat up. "When we talked, I kept expecting you to add your two cents…"

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up.

Missed him...

He tried to steel himself against the euphoric feeling that gave him; because if Alfred learned what a wishy washy sap his affection could turn his father into, Arthur would find himself exploited at every turn.

But it was nice...seeing Alfred playful. Especially after the upsetting day he'd had at Rhys's hands.

Arthur sighed and sat down-trying his best to continue scowling as the unrepentant boy tried to mimic him by placing his fingers over his own eyebrows and tilting them downward to show vexation.

"You!"

Foolish thing; he left his ticklish belly unprotected.

"GAHHHH! Noooooo. Cheater!"

"Admit your wrongdoing."

"Noooo!"

"Confess."

"I...raided...your...linen...closet…"

"And?"

"It was glorious!"

"You!"

"I regret nothing! Nothing!"

Arthur tickled him more persistently.

"Nothing!" He shrieked in a higher pitch.

No mercy then. Very well.

"N-no-noth-HELP! Americat?!"

The cat meowed from its place by Arthur's leg.

"Oh no, Americat is my good friend now" Arthur patted at the cushion beside him and the cat leapt up.

"...no...you...you, British fiend…"

Arthur gave a smarmy, theatrical, villainous laugh...which made Alfred's face pale and his eyes widen.

Poor lamb, for all his bravery, he was rather easily frightened. Arthur gave him a soft smile and gently moved the wheat blond fringe out of his eyes.

Which turned the tide in Alfred's favor, as he seemed to pick up on how much Arthur wanted a cuddle. Which...after 24 hours of persisting emotional drama, atop several weeks of anxious concern, atop a heartstopping perilous rescue, atop six months of unyielding terror, atop several centuries of agonizing estrangement...

What could a cuddle hurt?

Alfred laughed as he hugged Arthur tightly.

...Besides his dignity and authority?

Big blue eyes stared hopefully up at him, "It's so neat though, don't you think? And it's big enough for all of us to eat dinner insi-"

"No."

"Don't you think it's just a teensy bit cool?" Alfred wheedled, tilting his head adorably as he pressed in close.

"Oh no. No, you don't. You're not going to snuggle your way out of this" England warned as the boy pressed his cheek against Arthur's. "I know what you're doing, being all honey and sugar."

Alfred giggled.

"I'm still disappointed that you deliberately disobeyed and make no mistake you and Rhys will be taking that monstrosity down."

"What makes you certain I did anything beyond give my blessing?" Rhys called from the kitchen.

"You expect me to believe the resemblance to a medieval pavilion is mere coincidence?" Arthur remarked pointedly.

"And it looks so super cool" Alfred gushed "I, like, took a bazillion pictures of it. Wanna see?"

Rhys sighed and gave a rather subdued, "After dinner then."

"Indeed."

* * *

Rhys had anticipated that his brother would still be angry when he returned home, but the potency of it was something he couldn't have prepared for!

Rhys conceded that while he could understand why certain events of the day would've bothered him; Alfred was a child, and discussing his imprisonment in a candid fashion could be perceived as insensitive. And there was also a chance of repercussion to the quality of everyone's sleep tonight should Alfred regress and start having more night terrors.

But surely, the good he'd done (letting Alfred know he had a confidant in his father for his horrible experience) outweighed the bad (making Alfred cry and question his experience)?

Alas, there was a great gap between the familial branches between Father and Uncle and Rhys had fallen straight through.

Arthur's dark crackling aura made him very aware of that.

So he'd made Alfred cry. Was that what this was all about? Albion cried a lot as a child. So did Eire.

Some children were easily overwhelmed. And some children, like Alfred, had every reason to be upset.

It wasn't an odd or unexpected occurrence for them to react so emotionally.

Green eyes glared across the table at him.

Truly now...was he honestly intending on playing 'Protective Mother Hen' through their stay at Kirkland Manor? He was going to bring even more dysfunction than what the event usually generated on its own!

Rhys's only comfort at this point was that while Alfred (who admittedly wasn't great at reading the atmosphere) was at least quick enough on the uptake to realize that if Arthur remained very upset and Rhys was barred from his presence...then there would be no more "fancy" forts.

So when Arthur deliberately tried to steer the dinner conversation into a row, Rhys subtly motioned for Alfred to grab his drawing. He tapped his foot on the child's chair and below the table used a bit of magic-creating violet sparks to "air draw" a rectangle and then making a squiggle across the middle of it with a flourish.

He watched Alfred beam and abruptly announce, "You and I will be Pictionary buddies!"

Which elicited a baffled "Wot?" from Arthur before the child raced off.

Since Alfred had few table manners to begin with, he had no qualms abandoning them to fetch it; which benefitted Rhys tremendously:

One: Arthur was immediately worried about the boy; effectively distracting him from his ire. And Two: once Alfred returned with doodle in hand, all of Arthur's energy was channeled into admiring it.

Thankfully, Alfred had the good sense to present the drawing as a "gift" to his father. Rhys watched in semi-awe as the token nullified Arthur's wrath.

For one brief moment, he swore he glimpsed the happy toddler Albion had been-chewing on the toy sheep Rhys had made him and tugging on his brother's boot-wanting to be shown how the Snorie Bane worked again.

Always glad to be fussed over.

He set his silverware on his plate and sighed.

He wanted his little brother to be happy. He did.

And he knew Alfred factored into that happiness.

Still...

The more interactions he witnessed between them, the more disconcerted Rhys felt with Arthur's approach to parenting Alfred.

Not at all how he handled the other children. The Victorian Era's guide to parent had a good deal of influence on that. Arthur had been obsessed with reading and adhering to what the "experts" had to say-fearful of "failing" the way he had with America.

And so he followed the doctors' advice and the children followed strict schedules, diets, and rules. They'd had slews of nannies, governesses, and tutors as Arthur was intent on giving them every opportunity to better themselves; so they could be well-educated, well-behaved rational young adults.

Unlike a certain ruffian across the way…

It often meant Arthur didn't get to see them as much as he would've liked. Their schedules and his often conflicted. His empire had required constant maintenance...and the "experts" had believed that too much attention could spoil youngsters.

Honestly, it just created a very competitive atmosphere where Arthur's time, attention, and favor, was the prize.

It was with an overarching, immovable sense of dread that he anticipated this winter holiday. Alistair felt similarly.

Only Reilley remained cheerful about it: _"This'll be the year. I'll film somethin' great for 'You've Been Framed!' We've got America and Australia. Something'll happen. Especially if I set up a trampoline!"_

Because...the lax way Arthur handled Alfred...

Rhys watched his brother cheerfully set aside table etiquette-pulling the boy onto his lap to discuss the doodle with the same reverence he usually reserved for Henry Fuseli...when Alfred didn't possess an eighth of Mathieu's talent.

As Arthur announced that he'd treasure it, Rhys sighed heavily.

There was no way, no possible way at all that the other children weren't going to notice.

It made his stomach churn. He'd be sure to take an antacid before bed. He didn't need to consult his crystal ball to know he'd need to purchase a large value pack in the near future if he was going to survive Yule.

* * *

Alfred gave a sidelong glance to his fellow couch potato, "I'm surprised you don't just ask your Police Department for an old Police Box to satisfy your nerd side."

"Oh hush" Arthur retorted as he paid rapt attention to the television screen.

Rhys entered the room and cleared his throat coming to stand by the arm of the couch.

Awww.

He and Rhys had just barely finished taking down the Fortress Of Coolness. Which involved enough folding to make him feel like it was a laundry day in 1710. Hadn't the hero earned a reprieve of at least one episode?

Yeah, he wanted to learn magic but...he hadn't gotten to see Arthur all day.

And after the whole...Rome...thing…

It was just good to see him.

If it had been hard seeing the proud old goat, wounded in the 1940s-the reigns of his empire slowly being pulled from his grasp…

Alfred couldn't imagine him being...Rome's…

No...he wasn't even a colony…

But a…

A conquest...

There'd been plenty of things that sucked about being a colony, but he could sense from the spiral of dread that word brought to the center of his soul...that being conquered was worse...by a longshot.

He'd had terrible dreams before of being brought low; of his revolution going wrong, of Japan succeeding in conquering more of Alaska in the 1940s and then having a closer base to arrange more attacks on the west coast of his country, of the zombie apocalypse breaking out while he was in the deli section at CostCo.

But…

Arthur had lived it...

He shuddered and Arthur gave him a light squeeze.

He sighed and rested the back of his head with a soft thump against the side of his father's chest.

Arthur shifted slightly so they could both be more comfortable.

Bet he went hungry a lot…

And had people yell at him a lot…

And wondered what the hell everybody was saying cuz they kept talking in a different language most of the time. And how frustrating that was because they were doing it on purpose.

He wondered how many times he tried to run off. Got dragged back.

Did they play mind games with him too?

Try to convince him that his caretaker had never wanted him as anything beyond an accessory. There was always an element of truth in that, because personifications sought power the way sharks followed blood. And mercantilism just worked out so well for parent countries.

Alfred felt himself starting to drift away in the memory. Part of him had wanted to believe it, because believing it would mean getting to sever that connection once and for all. Not having to feel any guilt anymore because it was misplaced to begin with. Wouldn't it have been simpler that way? Because if all the love had been from his side the whole time, then he was just a faucet that needed to be turned off. His love was just being wasted-swirling down a cold, dark drain.

But it wasn't as simple as that.

Because if it was as simple as that...there'd have been no pain.

And the old man wouldn't have cried. Even to manipulate him. Old goat was too proud to cry on purpose…

He wondered if Rome had something to do with that.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. He was making himself sad again.

He made it…

Arthur made it!

And if he could make it…

Alfred could too. Sure Arthur was tough, (He'd been a knight _**and**_ a pirate!) but Alfred had been a hero practically his whole life-he'd started kicking Wendigo Ass as soon as he wriggled out of the cradleboard.

Sooo, if you compared their lifetimes percentage-wise rather than cumulatively...technically Alfred was the more epic out of the two of them. He'd been alive a much shorter time and had a ton of back-to-back adventures!

Yeah! Alfred felt his mood lift immediately.

Arthur pulled a blanket over the two of them-and as they refocused on the television, both of them ended up murmuring that they hadn't watched this episode.

Which was good because when Arthur had, he'd give all sorts of spoilers instructing you on when to pay attention, or insisting that he pause it when you left for a restroom break, and making "hmph" noises whenever untrustworthy characters were about to have their way.

Meanwhile, if it was the other way around and Alfred had already seen it-he had a bad habit of talking through it. His tendency towards cracking jokes and inventing "new lines" for characters (while entertaining as hell to Texas) usually ticked Arthur off.

Unless he was particularly witty, and then Arthur would smirk and give him a half-hearted "Oh shut it." It wasn't often. Something about Arthur's stuffy no-nonsense attitude just made his cleverness clam up.

Rhys cleared his throat again.

Before Alfred could loudly comment about moment-killers-

 _Alfred clapped a hand over his mouth to hold in his giggles. He could see beyond the bed skirt, a pair of feet tapping insistently._

 _But it was no good. The owner of those feet knew he was there._

 _And while the exact words were lost to time, he remembered a waggling finger and a stern warning that he really shouldn't play under his bed…_

 _Something...lurking...there...that preferred little ones who neglected their studies…_

 _ **They**_ _wouldn't be bright enough to escape!_

 _He'd groaned and pouted as he was hauled off to his Geography Lesson-where he always underestimated the time and distance between places and frustrated Arthur. Because Alfred was usually good at math, but for some reason couldn't easily apply it to maps._

Rhys frowned, "It's ti-"

"Dr. Who" Arthur replied-eyes still fixed on the television.

"So I see. But I need Alfred for his Numerology Lesson."

Alfred opened his mouth to whine-

"After" Arthur declared.

The arm that had been lazily wrapped around Alfred, tightened.

"Arthur...I need at least an hour. He'll be going to bed late if you delay us-"

The Hell? Was Wales actually insinuating that _**he**_ -the Hero-the Ace-the one and only United States of America had a-a-a bedtime?!

Hell no!

If they went to bed before ten it was cuz Arthur was old and got tired and crotchety. Not because...because…

He slowly turned to view Arthur.

No.

No way…

Had he been enforcing a bedtime in stealth mode? And just "saying" he was tired?

"After" Arthur growled.

"Fine" Rhys turned on his heel and exited.

And that was...that?

But...

Wait?

What?

Like for real?

Nobody was gonna ask for his opinion?

And he...was…

Kinda…

Frustrated with himself and them?

Cuz he didn't need either of them answering for him...or holding a conversation about him, like he wasn't there.

Hella weird…and aggravating...

It made him feel like he was backsliding into colony status which really pissed him off.

Except…

He was getting what he wanted, right?

It kinda reminded him of having to present the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 to his fellow nations.

He'd been embarrassingly weak and knew it, with a Navy so small you wouldn't be able to spread them on toast. And he was talking a big game against any additional attempts of colonization by Europe.

The snickers and guffaws died when Arthur, in a less than gentlemanly display, cracked his knuckles and remarked that the U.K.'s Royal Navy supported the policy.

God, it had been embarrassing relying on Arthur's brute naval strength to shelter him then. But he was technically safe and he didn't have to worry about Antonio or Francis swooping in anymore.

Except…

Times had changed! And he wasn't a fragile, fledgling nation anymore!

But he was here as a guest needing a favor. And not just a favor, a huge favor: a teach-me-all-your-magical-skills-and-secrets favor. So he couldn't afford to have a hissy fit, just cuz somebody crunched his toes a bit.

Essentially, he'd asked for a ride and had been offered the middle seat..of a truck bench. If you were in a bind then you couldn't refuse…

Yup.

Sometimes, if you were gonna make it to your destination you had to sit back and shut up.

Contrary to popular belief, America could shut his trap when the occasion called for it.

In fact, Tex always warned beginners when they were playing with Al in _Monopoly_ , that when Al went quiet things were either going the way he wanted or he was plotting to _**make**_ them to go that way.

Alfred had learned over the years especially by having Mathieu as a brother, that being loud was a way to get noticed, and that being quiet was a way to get ignored. And that both of those things could very useful.

When you were usually quiet, and you raised your voice-the whole room goes still and the spotlight finds you.

And...

If you were usually loud, and then when you went quiet-you practically disappeared.

Arthur's hand gently took to petting his hair, "Don't mind him Sweet, he's always been rather forceful. Everything to a schedule. It's why I usually buy him a watch each Christmas. The numpty wears them out. Obsessive Compuls-"

Whoa!

Shut. The. Front. Door.

Was Arthur actually complaining that _**Rhys**_ was the bossy one?

 _I mean, yeah...he is...but...but...but..._

Pot meet Kettle!

Dude!

He could've totally had a field day with that, if the episode they were watching wasn't so awesome and action-y.

Further philosophizing and Numerology could wait.

* * *

Arthur gave his son a piggyback ride into the bedroom-blithely ignoring his older brother's unimpressed expression.

"I take it you're ready?" Arthur inquired lightly.

"Yes" was the short response.

Alfred sprung off his back and rolled onto the bed.

Rhys frowned.

After insisting the boy sit properly and waiting for Alfred to follow through, Rhys asked one final time if Alfred was sure he wanted to take his lesson here. He explained how none of the Kirkland brothers conjured where they slept, for fear of their work following them into their dreams.

Arthur fidgeted under the hard stare Rhys gave him because…he'd forgotten Mother's warning regarding all that. SleepCasting could be dangerous business. Though...as it was only Reilley ever ended up actually accomplishing that. The result of which was a bowl that sneezed its contents. Scotland had demanded it as a Yule gift...and always put it to use when English dignitaries came to visit.

Honestly, Arthur had structured their lessons the way he had using elements that had worked when Alfred was very young. Right before bed, with all his chores done, and his energy spent, he was in a good state of mind to listen...and cuddle.

In the 1650s, eager to strengthen the child's trust in him and form a bond, Arthur plied him with stories, lullabies, and legends.

This...wasn't so different than that.

And his intent was entirely the same: nurture that trust.

Alfred assured them both that magic following him into sleep was exactly what he hoped for.

Since Arthur had started giving him lessons, the magic gave him vibrant dreams. His whole face lit up as he launched into one such dream where he flew out to meet Arthur on a ship and the two of them played cards in the crow's nest.

Arthur smirked while Rhys stared and sighed, "...Numerology-"

"And did you write that one down in your dream journal?" Arthur prompted. Because there was bound to be quite a lot of symbolism at work there. Arthur was nearly chomping at the bit to begin analyzing it.

Judging by the cheery way it had been described; there was a lot of positive energy involved, which was very encouraging. And then there was the fact that Alfred wasn't terribly fond of sailing, and had deliberately met him there...meaning he felt safe enough to board? Or perhaps, that Arthur still felt a bit out of reach? Since he was out on the ocean instead of at the harbor or onshore? Or perhaps it meant that he was subconsciously thinking about his air magic and Arthur's water magic and where each would be in his element?

The crow's nest...a compromise?

Alfred fidgeted, "Uh...I...er...forgot to pack…"

"Now-excuse me-Numerol-"

"Oh no! Sweet, you should've told me" he murmured taking a seat beside the child "Keeping a Dream Journal is very important. Rhys, tell him how important dream journals-"

" _ **Tonight**_ , I am teaching Numerology-"

"We can find one for you tomorrow. I'm sure I have an unused journal around here somewhere or we can go out after my meeting and find a special-"

"Numerology" Rhys cut in "is a practice that involves deriving great significance from numbers. It is a division of divination-"

"Say that five times fast-" Alfred snickered.

Rhys frowned.

"Sorry" Alfred sighed.

"That can be used to focus on the past, present, and future. It can also reveal a great amount about people, places, and events. We will focus on people, specifically on the Self tonight."

Arthur took a moment to check his phone for any updates. He couldn't finish a report due on Wednesday until John sent him over the last of his report. A shame because he would've liked to have finished it today, and possibly left for Kirkland Manor early.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Work-"

"Is the copier acting up? Cuz ya know how there's the Dog Whisperer, and the Baby Whisperer?"

Arthur nodded bemusedly.

"Then there's me: The Copy Machine Printer Whisperer. I'm adored in whatever office I stroll through by frustrated clerks and secretaries and poor abused machinery."

"I'll keep that in mind, if we have troubles-"

"Cuz sometimes it doesn't want a hard shutdown and reset, sometimes it wants you to actually scroll through and read the whole error message and-"

Rhys cleared his throat.

Arthur looked up to see Rhys staring at him-eyebrows twitching.

Wales stretched out a hand.

He could see the ultimatum in those hazel eyes: It was either relinquish the phone or be asked to leave.

He pressed the phone into Rhys's palm-smirking at the dissatisfied look that resulted.

He'd wanted to use that as a strategy to get him to leave.

After his antics today, not a chance.

Arthur wanted to see exactly what sort of interactions Alfred and Rhys had with one another.

And...well...there was always a bit of pleasure to be had whenever he acted contrary to what his brothers expected of him.

Wales let out a slow breath through his nose and set the phone on Alfred's dresser. Far...far...from Arthur's reach.

Hmph.

"Now each individual has what's called a personality number. You'll be able to derive yours by studying the name you were given at birth."

He handed Alfred a sheet of yellow construction paper and a red marker.

"Write it out now."

Alfred accepted the materials but made no move to follow the instructions, "..."

"Now please."

"..."

"Alfred-"

Arthur huffed, "He needs something to write on Rhys."

"O-oh, yes, here" he removed several papers from his clipboard before handing it over.

Alfred accepted that too and set the paper on it...but fiddled with the marker-taking the cap off and putting it back on.

"At...birth?" Alfred questioned uncertainly.

Both men turned to look at him.

"When you say 'at birth' whaddya mean?"

"Your very first name is best."

"..."

Alfred's feet curled, stretched, and curled again in a nervous way that Arthur was learning to interpret meant he was getting stressed.

The tension coiling in their bond confirmed it.

He probably ought to pass that tidbit of information onto his brothers; that a lot of Alfred's feelings could be read in his feet.

Arthur's lips pressed into a grim line as he and Rhys shared a glance.

Damnation.

He wasn't named?

No one had bother to name him...

"I thought…" Rhys faltered "Iroquois called you Dya-"

Alfred shrugged, expression kept carefully neutral "Yeah, she named me... eventually."

The child fiddled with the marker, spinning it between his fingers like a small baton, "..s'posed to happen in the first week before, through, and after the...birth. All the women are s'posed to go into the longhouse where it's happening and...and think up a special clan name that nobody else has. They wouldn't meet for me. Genessee loved to tell me that over and over."

The boy's expression soured with the bad memory.

It gave Arthur heartbreaking insight into why Alfred had such negative connotations surrounding the term "Boy." It was likely what both the Natives and the Colonists referred to him as.

However, before he could console or condemn or comment-certainty struck him.

Yes! Yes! Yes! He'd known from the moment he made contact with Alfred while traipsing through the historical site. There was power in that name; it allowed their minds to meet without needing Rhys to play "operator."

"It's Roanoke!"

"Huh?"

"Roanoke. 1584. Raleigh's Charter, Love."

Yes. Yesss. That was it.

"Oh? Oh!" Blue eyes widened and the corners of his mouth upturned in a faint, relieved smile.

Because having a name...even if he hadn't known it at the time...was better than…

" _Boy."_

Which may as well have meant "Thing" depending on the mouth that uttered it.

"Okay. Geez, that's kinda sneaky. But yeah...I guess it would be, huh?"

Arthur nodded confidently as the child scrawled it across the paper.

"Kay, part one done!"

Rhys swallowed and didn't meet the Briton's eye.

 _Glad I'm here now, aren't you brother? That could've been a very painful moment for my Alfred._

Perhaps, he'd ask for overviews of whatever future lessons Wales planned on giving.

"Right. Now...now take a look at this chart."

Arthur snagged the book out of his brother's hands and held it open for Alfred to look at.

"Kay…"

"Now each letter will correspond to a number value. Label yours please."

Tongue between his teeth, Alfred consulted the book and jotted down the numbers.

"Good. Now add up only the consonants."

"But...why don't I add them all…?"

"Just the consonants."

"Well why didn't you say that first? I wasted time looking up the vowels and-"

"Consonants."

"Fiiine."

"Do you have your sum?"

"9 plus 5 plus 2...sooo 16"

"Now add the 1 and the 6 together."

"What?"

"Add them together" Rhys instructed.

"Why?"

"Alfred. Please do as I ask."

"This is...wonky math."

"Personality Numbers lie between 1 and 9."

Arthur couldn't even remember his. Maybe he ought to ask for a sheet of paper too?

"...weird…"

"It's not my strong suit either, pet" Arthur offered "Don't despair, this is why we're testing. To see which areas you excel in and which ones require-"

"I'm...not gonna be good at this one…" the boy muttered dejectedly "I can...feel it..."

Arthur smoothed his fringe back, "And that's alright."

"But a 7's a good number" Alfred stared at him hopefully "I mean lots of people think 7 is lucky."

"The Seeker" Wales nodded.

"...like Harry Potter?" Enthusiasm made his blue eyes shine.

"No."

And the light died.

"It means that you quest for the Truth and have a great thirst for knowledge."

"Oh...well _that's_ not very magical. I could've just told you that, if you asked."

"Divination is supposed to be used as a means to find answers...really more like clues...when the Truth is not readily available."

Alfred stared for several moments-trying to digest that and then he violently scruffled his hands through his hair as he groused, "Gah! It sounds like playing Go Fish with a Magic Eight Ball!"

Rhys shook his head, "The next few pages will tell you more about the Nine Personality Types."

Alfred begrudging did as told reading through the passage and cherry picking lines to read aloud:

"Introverted? Nope. Dreamer? Well yeah. Analytical? Yeah...I read and study stuff. But Mysterious? Pfffffftb. I dunno know man...think I'm gonna have to call BS on this. I'm like the most...straightforward-not-mysterious guy you're gonna find. The hero doesn't have time to pretend to be complicated."

On the contrary, England thought; Roanoke was the most mysterious facet of him altogether and England would have to be a fool to deny that Red, White, and Blue had their fair share of secrets.

"Independent...freethinker, well duh...deep inner strength…solitary...eccentricity...fine check that one off. Also...enjoys own company. Hey! These are like horoscopes and fortune cookies, aren't they? They could apply to anybody!"

"Please continue until the end. Those were from the more positive end."

"So...first impression sticks with people and they...don't feel compelled to learn more. Yeah...that-that happens. Which is fine! I don't need superficial people like that knowing me deep down, anyway. Tch...fair-weather friends."

Arthur and Rhys shared another glance.

In the span of minutes, Alfred had already contradicted himself. First, he was uncomplicated and "not-mysterious" and now he had alluded to a true self "deep down."

A "true self" who seemed rather defensive and ready to write off anyone and everyone as a "fair-weather friend."

 _Oh Blue...you disintegrated...but you didn't leave...did you?_

"Cold-hearted…argumentative...holds onto resentment…"

Alfred bit his lower lip.

"Every number has positive and negative traits" Arthur murmured gently. "All of them."

Years of keeping an eye on children and politicians alike, had led him to develop a talent for reading upside down.

Alfred's eyes lingered on a particular portion of the next paragraph and Arthur felt his body go rather cold.

' _Lack of empathy. May commit backstabbing to give self more advantage.'_

Alfred didn't look him in the eyes for several beats and Arthur didn't trust himself to speak.

It wasn't that Alfred lacked empathy; his sincere grief over Arthur's enslavement to Rome was proof enough of that. Arthur immediately felt his body warm back up as he took that into account.

He just had an unsettling way of reasoning himself into a state of mind where he could "detach" more easily. Perhaps that ability was what had resulted in the fragments of spirit Arthur had met in his subconscious?

"Physically frail? Pffft! I beg to differ!" Blue eyes glared up at Arthur daring him to agree with the book.

Arthur gave him a very flat look.

Whooping cough. Pneumonia. Dehydration. Hypothermia. Tuberculosis. Typhoid fever. Overheating. Marching foot fractures. Bronchitis. Why, he could break his foot by tripping!

Alfred's face flushed, "Stop thinking at me. I don't always get sick or hurt!"

Arthur blinked in surprise, so Alfred's awareness of him was getting stronger too!

"7 is a good one, right? Fairy tales and lotto tickets don't lie!"

"It _ **is**_ a good personality number" Rhys assured, hazel eyes bright, looking…

Arthur's head tilted in surprise.

...strangely…

Pleased?

Rhys gestured to himself, "Cymru. I'm also a 7."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDDDD


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Shakespeare's Hamlet. Or the Merlin TV series. Or Disneyland Paris. Or Skip It-the children's toy. Or Reese's Pieces.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). King Tigernmas. King Louis XIV-the self-proclaimed Sun King. Fluff. Feels. Poorly made pancakes. Problems involved in having a family of tsunderes-especially when they all have valid points to be concerned about. Skip It-the toy (Anyone who has owned one of these, or played with someone who owned one of these, has a Skip-It-Injury-Story. I know you do. We've all been bruised by these. Feel free to post it in your review. Mine: got stuck on the edge of the sidewalk while I was skipping. I fell and skinned my nose-top to bottom. Go on now, share yours. Best one gets worked into the story! XD)

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! Glad to see everybody staying tuned in. To Fionn Rose...regarding the house, the match, and the explosion statement. : D Burn...Baby...burn! Continuing the condiment conversation; I'm on my way to becoming a connoisseur of fast food ketchup-I can correctly identify different ones by taste: Chick-fil-A vs. McDonald's vs. Wendy's, etc. Hm. Mayonnaise. Really? I only use a dollop when I'm making a tuna fish sandwich. Here we're all about salt. What? Not flavourful enough? SALT. I'm not a big Ranch fan, but I've seen folks dip all sorts of meals into that dressing. That said, I'll add polynesian sauce (Sweet Chili Sauce) to pretty much anything.

Onward! Hope you enjoy! As we move steadily closer to Holiday Doom! : D

 **Chapter 24:** **Rhys: The-Disapprover-Of-Many-Things**

* * *

Wales fought the ever increasing need to fidget. He finally surrendered by shifting his weight from his left foot to his right.

It was uncomfortable watching Arthur bid his child goodnight.

It wasn't the display of affection that was unsettling. Arthur had always been rather doting; he'd delighted in reading stories and singing lullabies for the gaggle of children under his command-taking great care as he tucked each one into his or her bed.

But…the process of actually putting them to bed usually took no more than fifteen minutes-mayhaps twenty if several demanded glasses of water and Arthur had to placate them until the servants arrived.

He tucked them in, wished them sweet dreams, kissed their foreheads, and moved onwards. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until each ward was cared for.

Even adolescents still received a warm hand to the shoulder (if male) or a guiding hand to the small of the back (if female) to shepherd them to their quarters. Especially, when they had "charming" guests with questionable motives.

And he'd pace around the house all night, working himself into a fit of worry and wrath if one was late arriving home. New Zealand learned that the hard way when he tried to sneak in past curfew and came through the window just as England was patrolling.

But…

There was something different here...Arthur was...lingering...

Wales cast a surreptitious look at his watch. Really, they'd been here nearly forty minutes already! How could Arthur of all people...Arthur...who'd been championing clocks since the late 1200s...who insisted they be installed in every church he could persuade to purchase them...

Who celebrated the increased productivity of citizens who could know the hour of the day by the ringing of bells and eventually by the chiming of pendulum clocks…

Who'd emphatically declared that the pocketwatch and its assistance in figuring out longitude was a godsend to all navigators and was never found without one following their invention...

..Lose track of...

Rhys glanced around.

Lose...track of…

...of...

The room didn't have a clock...

"I'm just in the room over" Arthur assured for what seemed the upteenth time-smoothing the child's fringe back. "I'll leave your door and mine open, alright?"

The child nodded solemnly before stretching his arms out for a hug.

Arthur sank gratefully into the embrace.

He'd been getting steadily more jealous through the evening as Alfred and Rhys began comparing traits.

His nephew had delighted in sharing the mantle of "eccentric" with his uncle and soon it became a friendly competition:

Alfred dipped his chicken nuggets in milkshakes.

Rhys could eat anything with enough gravy.

Alfred had a drawer filled with calculators of varying size and function.

Rhys had a lasting fascination with astrolabes…and he collected them-they adorned the walls throughout his cottage house.

Alfred had him repeat "astrolabe" twice before trying for himself-testing and tasting the foreign word.

Curiosity burned bright in his eyes, and he looked expectantly at Rhys to educate him on the matter. Unfortunately, before a meaningful and informational conversation could ensue regarding Greek and Muslim astronomers, Arthur abruptly commented on Rhy's habit of analyzing others and recording his findings in an array of pocket-sized books.

" _Always examining his family like we're specimens on display. Isn't that so,_ _ **Dr**_ _?"_

Rhys reluctantly owned up to it-hesitantly pulling out the small book he had on Alfred and immediately placing it back in his pocket.

He usually didn't bring it up as this habit tended to make people...uncomfortable.

Alfred however had not been put off in the least. Instead, he'd reacted by grabbing his laptop and showing a few files.

" _I mainly use it to keep track of people's allergies and cool gift ideas!"_ He then stared at Rhys for a beat and asked "... _Do you have allergies?"_

When Arthur's plans to sabotage Rhys backfired spectacularly, he'd gotten increasingly frustrated and petulant.

Amusing. Because Rhys thought it was obvious that, of the two adults in the room, Arthur was the uncontested favorite.

He was fairly certain that nothing short of the Wheel of Fate itself falling from the heavens and crashing through the ceiling could've enticed his nephew to come sit on his lap as he read aloud passages from the large leather bound book on Numerology. And that would've only been a possibility if Arthur hadn't already been in the room.

A pity that Arthur didn't seem to appreciate how Alfred would lean into him when Arthur read out a section, or how docilely the boy asked him questions.

With Rhys, Alfred didn't "ask questions," rather he "demanded answers."

Arthur also seemed oblivious to the way Alfred actively minimized how much physical contact he had with his uncle-carefully taking papers from him without allowing their fingers to brush.

As an Empath he could deeply respect that; though he wished it was just personal aversion rather than remnants of persisting fear.

Touch was something very intimate. Even those without highly evolved senses could still read another's feelings to some extent based on how the other handled them.

Arthur's love was great, formidable, potent, and...for all it's (almost violent) passion was surprisingly gentle.

It was natural for the child to seek that out. He was certain that compared to Arthur, he seemed very unimpressive indeed.

When Arthur finally managed to tear himself away, several yawns from Alfred cueing him that the child really DID need to rest, Wales's jaw dropped.

Arthur exited the room without extinguishing all the lights.

Several small night lights were left on for Alfred's sake.

When Rhys tried to comment about it, Arthur forcibly pulled him from the room loudly explaining that Alfred wasn't often there, and navigating a strange house late at night could mean bruises or broken figurines.

He was letting his son save face rather than admit possessing a childish fear of the dark.

It was just…

Rhys had witnessed numerous occasions where Arthur had told other wards in no uncertain terms that they needed to overcome it. Because he wasn't going to let them burn down the nursery leaving candles unattended.

When Sealand scared himself silly watching a marathon of slasher movies, Arthur's response had been that unless Sealand was going to contribute to paying his electric bill-the light switch went off and stayed off after 10 p.m.

Arthur blatantly ignored Rhys's attempts to engage him in conversation and sped off to his room.

Rhys sighed as he contemplated his next course of action-mindful that crossing into Arthur's territory uninvited usually put his brother in a particularly foul mood.

He entered anyway, it just couldn't be put off-taking care to shut the door behind him and lock it.

He found his brother's laptop open on his bed with a pair of headphones and an episode of Merlin buffering.

Sounds of movement drew him over to the closet.

Arthur gasped and nearly tripped, "Christ! Rhys! Dammit man, knock!"

Rhys raised an eyebrow and gave the wall one knock.

Arthur gave him a withering look as he cinched the ties of his pajama bottoms.

He pushed past Rhys without bothering to pull on the shirt portion of his nightwear.

"God. You have no sense of privacy at all, do you? Hmph. I swear the only time it was useful was during Louis XIV's reign."

Rhys felt a strong urge to roll his eyes. Someone being in a state of undress seldom stopped him from delivering a message-especially if it was urgent.

And yes. He'd often been the one sent to deal with France's King Louis XIV-who fancied himself a God on Earth and allowed every aspect of his life to be observed by an adoring public. It wasn't watching him get dressed and undressed that was a nuisance...no, it was being forced to watch him star in ballets as Apollo...because of his Sun fetish.

Time to change the subject. First, something unexpected to unsteady him a bit and while he was distracted, launch his real proposal.

"Why doesn't Alfred's room have a clock?"

His brother stiffened and then glowered, "I removed it...because...because he inherited my workaholic tendencies. I don't need him fretting over what time it is. If he's very tired, he should sleep regardless if it's _"not past midnight,_ yet" or it's " _after six am, already._ " He needs his rest-he...dammit...he needed to rest before this whole" he waved a hand in frustration "situation. I'd prefer if you didn't draw attention to it. Or I'll have a devil of a time getting him to go to bed at a decent hour. He'll only sleep if he believes everyone else is sleeping too. Otherwise he'll demand to stay up, and if he does...Good lord, if he does. He'll be so sour in the morning. You'll be tempted to give him coffee to improve his demeanor."

"So you...hide in your room?" Rhys asked bemused.

Arthur bristled, "I'm not hiding. I'll only be up another hour or so anyway. I have another presentation to endure. Alas, I have to be somewhat awake tomorrow to-"

Rhys shifted his weight again as Arthur sat down on his bed. His younger brother was starting to slouch, which meant his defenses were lowering.

Which could've been a good sign…

But the dread in his gut refused to let him interpret that positively.

Observing Alfred and Arthur today had alerted him to a concerning matter; both of them were emotionally wounded and were latching onto one another more tightly than was healthy.

It was natural for Alfred to be reaching for comfort-his age alone would've garnered him that right. Though he did hope that Alfred would attempt to resolve any problems he faced with his uncles with them first before seeking out his father as he had that afternoon.

He flexed his fingers nervously.

It was equally natural for Arthur as the parent to be "aware" of his offspring, their mother had been similar-always seeming to know the second one of them was injured physically or emotionally.

But she'd taken care to limit how much of herself they could sense back.

Earlier this night, when Alfred had reached his arms out for an embrace-Rhys had an eerie sense that it had been more for Arthur's benefit than his own.

Yes; they were melding a bit too snugly for his comfort; when "harm" or in this case "distress" was done to one, it may as well have been done to the other.

And while that had likely contributed to why Arthur had been able to find the child in Osha's woodland trap…and why Alfred's "death" after the surgery hadn't rung true for him...

They weren't in a crisis anymore.

They needed a little time apart; an opportunity to see themselves more clearly. If their feelings continued to bleed together it could become very troublesome sorting out whose pain belonged to who and what they could do about it.

Alas, no matter how much good it would do them, there was a very strong chance that however he presented his intention it would be met hostilely by one particular side.

He watched Arthur stretch his shoulders and roll his neck.

"Now as you know," Rhys explained "I was intending on travelling over to the manor on Wednesday. Alistair and Reilly haven't confirmed if they're going to arrive that day or the next-"

Arthur nodded, "Alfred and I will join you on Thursday. We'll try to leave early and-"

"I've reconsidered-"

A slight frown of puzzlement crossed Arthur's face.

"I think it would be more advantageous for me to depart for the house tomorrow."

"Oh, I see" Arthur replied, not sounding terribly interested. "Very well. I'll bring Alfred to the offi-"

"-I believe Alfred should come with me if he desires to."

If Rhys was honest, he naturally expected some level of resistance to his proposal.

He was not prepared for the look of absolute horror that crossed Arthur's face. Like Rhys was taking a leaf out of Eire's old, mad king: Tigernmas' book and asking Arthur to offer his child up to Cromm Cruach for good milk and crops.

All the color drained out of his face, his nostrils flared, his body trembled and he very quietly refused.

The "No" despite its low volume and soft tone was heavier than Stonehenge in the weight of its solemnity.

' _Mine'_ echoed through the web of energy connecting Rhys to his surroundings and Arthur.

And his brother's aura went particularly dark.

"For Alfred's sake" Rhys argued. "He'd benefit greatly by having three days to familiarize himself with the estate. It would be unfair to him to allot only one day. The other children know the place well and he'll need time to learn the layout and the staff in a calm environment."

"You asked me...and I said: ' _ **No.**_ '"

Arthur closed the laptop harshly, wrenching its cord from the wall and tossing it into a nearby chair.

"Arth-"

"What if he has a terror?"

"Then I will calm-"

"What if he has an anxiety attack?"

"Arth-"

"What if something happens? If he gets hurt? Or ill? What if you put your foot in your mouth again so deep it comes out your ars-"

"Brawd bach-"

"He'd be all alone...all alone...what if he needs me?"

"No. He won't be alone-I'll be avail-"

"What if he needs _**me**_?! I'll be hours away! What if someone harms him and-"

Rhys stared. The tone of desperation surprised him. It seemed that Arthur was still suffering separation anxiety and acute paranoia.

True, he'd expected some psychological damage from the child's abduction...but if it was as strong a fear for Arthur as he was sensing now, he was disappointed in himself for not picking it up sooner.

Yes...time away from each other was definitely in order...if Arthur was having difficulties…moving past what happened...

Alfred was healing and the stronger he got, the more independence he was going to demand.

He was accepting Arthur's behavior now because he was in genuine need of a soft touch. And young enough that he knew intrinsically that he did still need a guiding hand now and then; advice when he asked for it, rebukes when he acted poorly, praise when he did well.

But…

Rhys could almost see it…eyes feeling the slight tingle that signalled he was having an Insight. Not a vision-where he'd actually see something coming to pass but…

This…

It was something that wasn't quite set in the tapestry of Fate-but the pattern was being laid out.

Eventually the tide would turn, Alfred's strength would wax full and bright, and he'd be indulging Arthur's need to be close.

Resentment would fester as Arthur held him fast-sinking them down like an anchor. And the more unhappy Alfred became the tighter Arthur would cling-believing that with enough attention and affection-he could cure it. And then Alfred would grow violent as his need to reassert control over his life overcame his desire to fulfill his father's wishes.

Alfred's need for freedom was too great-too large a portion of his soul to ever be surrendered. All the love and tenderest care Arthur could give him, wouldn't make that cage any more bearable. And Alfred would rebel. Arthur would end up hurt and angry and he'd return the injury tenfold-and be horrified when he succeeded.

And-and-and…they'd reenter the same cycle of love and resentment and guilt that they were already in.

Rhys sighed.

Arthur needed support, understanding, counseling, and...Rhys felt his face warm...love.

And he needed to find it in his brothers.

Then perhaps he could have a healthier relationship with his young son.

But could Rhys overcome his own reserve? And get the others to do the same? He'd thought their concern was obvious through their actions, but...

"Arthur…" he replied "he's safe here. I understand your fears, but-"

"He wasn't safe in his own borders!" His brother hissed. "You saw how his government responded. Before...During...After! I won't see him neglected! I won't! If they won't provide for him, I will!"

Rhys' eyebrow twitched, "He isn't your colony any more. And you're no empire; you don't have the resources to bully your way into getting all you want. And even if you did, Arthur, you can't just intervene in every obstacle he faces-you need to let-"

"I'm his father! I'm-I'm-Don't you _**dare**_ presume to lecture me on what aspects of my child's life I am 'allowed' to care about! I wouldn't expect you to understand! Given your inability to give a damn about anyone that (how was it you phrased it?) causes you " _unnecessary spiritual exhaustion"_? Go! Hole yourself away in your cottage! Leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves in this life that you find so draining. I, at least, don't hide when someone I care immensely for is-"

"I wouldn't dare waste my breath" Rhys bit back "If only because of your uncanny, bullheaded ability to ignore whatever practical advice I give you. But I am, I repeat, I _**am**_ going to ask him at breakfast tomorrow. It's _**his**_ decision. I only wanted to inform you of my intent so you would be forewarned."

Rhys turned on his heel to leave, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

He was going to bruise-he could sense it.

"This is too sudden!" Arthur exploded "If you were planning this all the while, you should've written or phoned us days ago! He needs predictability! Too much change could trigger his terrors and-"

"Even so. He's a sovereign nation whose been on his own for two centuries. He's survived this long Albion. It isn't luck. _**He**_ can decide what his needs are."

 _Dammit, Albion! You need to see him as someone apart from you! With his own desires, needs, and rights!_

Alfred could still refuse. The point was that Alfred, and not Arthur, should be the one choosing!

But Arthur was too afraid he'd say ' _Yes_ ' that he didn't even want to give the child an opportunity.

"His judgment is...not...he's a child. He...he needs someone to look out for his needs!"

"You **cannot** decide for him."

"You haven't even apologized! I'm supposed to just trust you? When...after this whole...mess…?"

Rhys blinked.

"All your fault" Arthur's grip turned positively painful as his voice wavered-Rhys gritted his teeth.

"...whole mess...started…"

Hazel eyes rolled sarcastically, "Fine. Yes, Arthur I'm sorry I wasn't able to allow us all to sidestep that whole wendigo business. I wasn't trying to be deceptive with you. Honestly, my vision just wasn't very clear-at the beginning...I didn't even know what part America had to play in it. I only knew that if we did get involved, we'd be involved until the end and in a great amount of danger. As the eldest, it's my duty to watch over you three and Mam wouldn't have forgive-"

"To Alfred!" Arthur seethed.

Rhys blinked.

"God! You're the one who didn't even warn him! I didn't know enough then to be convincing. But you! If you could've-"

Oh…

Yes…

He supposed he ought to-

"And his poor people! Terrorized by those monstrous-"

Right…

"Did you even read the reports? Some of them were turned?! And Mathieu told me that they still have patrols-"

So…then…

Perhaps, it wasn't just that Arthur was against having Alfred away from himself, but that he was nervous in having Rhys be the one watching over him...

The one who let Alfred wander straight into danger without any warning...was now trying to take him to a secluded estate where no one (save servants who were fond of Rhys and his methodical ways) would be in close contact with them for several days.

Yes. He could see how that would be worrying...in a...villainous-uncle-plot sort of way.

Still...recalling the way he'd been tackled onto a table, assaulted by Reilley and Alistair for unintentionally causing Arthur distress, pushed by Arthur when he was assessing Alfred's wounds, abandoned by Arthur physically (when he smuggled Alfred out of the woods) and his other brothers mentally (when they succumbed to Osha's mental tricks), and how his quick thinking and ruthless hexing had defeated Yamasee…

And how...no one was that grateful to him…

He supposed one ill turn deserved another...at least as food for thought...

"Very well then. I concede Brother. I _**do**_ need to ask forgiveness from Alfred. Let me follow your example then. Tell me...how did you go about _**your**_ apology regarding the Revolutionary War and 1812?"

Arthur abruptly released him, "Get out of my room...GET OUT! That is NOT a request!"

 _ **BAM!**_

Both Kirklands startled as the door was thrown open so hard the lock broke and the door came off one hinge.

Alfred stood in the doorway eyes wide, breathing hard.

Rhys glared at Arthur and muttered, "you really...truly, need to learn how to shield more adeptly."

Arthur had pretty much broadcast the emotions of their argument.

"I'm sorry Sweetheart, did we wake you?"

Rhys nearly flinched at the sugary tone.

"The hero's here...Are you okay?" Alfred asked doubtfully.

"Yes, yes, yes" Arthur insisted, gently shooing him out of the room.

"Why were you yelling? Why are you upset?"

"We were just talking and I fear I lost my temper. It's nothing, Sweet."

"Dad…"

"Not to worry, dear. We-"

"Is this about Rome?!" Alfred demanded. "You really didn't want him to tell me, did you? But-but-you...you don't have to be embarrassed. I thought we talked about it! You don't! I...I know you...like being viewed as...as great-"

Arthur stiffened.

Rhys watched the exchange curiously.

"Who doesn't? I get that…I...it's hard to...it's hard!" He waved his arms for emphasis "It's s'like...Here ya are kickin' back in your backyard and minding your own business and someone shows up and uproots you from your life! And you didn't get any say or anything and they just shove you in a pot and take ya home and make ya chill on a counter and you're just s'posed to deal. It's like...you're a...a _**thing**_ to them…and they can just...whatever they...want...and...even though they might have reasons...it's still...except….you're _**not**_ a thing and that's why it's so messed up and-and-and...I...I'm not saying this really well..."

Oh no...he was saying everything perfectly and he had impeccable timing.

Rhys couldn't have scripted it better, if he'd had roomful of opera composers at his beck and call.

Rhys could see his brother's eyes welling up a bit.

Because for all his good intentions, Arthur was often guilty of that. He "uprooted" Alfred at the slightest whim.

From the time he was a colony wandering in a field, to the way he'd recruited him out of neutrality and into the World Wars, to the winter holiday they were on now...where he was actively trying to thin out what choices Alfred could select from and which people he could visit with.

Arthur swallowed thickly and affirmed "You are _**not**_ a _**thing**_."

"Yeah!" Alfred nodded emphatically. "And neither are you...and what happened to you...doesn't make you less either...to me. I don't care about that...I...I still think...you..."

The child's face went very red as Arthur's softened to something so...parental...that Rhys caught a glimpse of their mother in him.

The boy fidgeted-twisting his hands in the sleeves of his pajamas.

Well, Rhys supposed that in a roundabout way...this was good. Arthur had taken losing his empire very hard-he'd had a love affair with power practically since his infancy (he'd seemed to delight in how howling for attention could rouse his whole family into action). Still, hearing one child practically confess that Arthur could've spent the entirety of his days as a ditch digger of Roman aqueducts and Alfred would have loved him all the same was probably soothing.

Arthur gently thanked the child (who spluttered and went purple) and carried him back to his room.

When Arthur reappeared, he didn't look Rhys in the eye and pointed at the hall, "Out. And goodnight...and don't oversell your proposal...you're all the company he'll have there. Be sure to stress that."

Maybe it was the sad, hollow look on his face...like Rhys had reached in and wrenched his heart out...that prompted the Welshman to state, "Whether he says yes or no is up to him."

Arthur ignored him and got into bed-turning over so he didn't have to look at his older brother.

Rhys sighed and turned off the light.

In the darkness, he offered, "I'll be sure to fix your door...before I go."

Still no answer.

* * *

Alfred poked at what was supposed to be a pancake with the prongs of his fork. But it was so thin it looked sad, and where it wasn't doughy it was burnt.

Still, Arthur let him put tons of whipped cream on it so...ya took what you could get.

"I just...I dunno about that whole Numerology thing" he admitted.

"Why's that pet?"

"Cuz I'm not physically frail" he grumbled. "You've said so yourself. _**I'm**_ sturdy."

Arthur sat down across from him, slathering butter onto his equally crappy pancake.

Ya know...the old man did eat a LOT of butter. Maybe he ought to get on his case about that when they started arguing about healthy eating habits.

"Oh I can trust you to give or take a punch and survive a famine" Arthur agreed "But I can't leave you in the same room as someone with a cold. And sometimes I can't leave you in a room at all...you remember that...what was it you called it? A 'Skip It'? That ankle toy thing-"

"I'd rather not talk about that incident if it's all the same for you."

Arthur's lips twitched into a teensy smile, which made Alfred feel an itsy bit better.

His dad didn't look so good: he had tired, bloodshot eyes and the (admittedly normal) downturned edges of his mouth seemed to be sagging just a bit more than usual.

He'd seemed upset last night, but Alfred had hoped his words could assure him. He was glad Rhys brought up Arthur's past. He thought back to the sewing room.

" _I wasn't born holding a cutlass while steering a helm..."_

 _"Do you suppose I was lesser back then?"_

 _"...would you have cared to know me then?"_

Then...when he was a spoil of Roman war?

It made his heart ache to think of his father being dragged out of his home as his village was torched and terrorized.

At least Osha had tricked him for a long time with the idea that he was a guest/patient.

Poor little Arthur must've been terrified as he was dragged along. He knew he wasn't headed anywhere good.

Rhys took his seat-eyeing the charred black goo (be he wished there were some doughy bits) on his plate and wisely making no move to eat or comment on it.

"Alfred" he greeted.

"Reeses Pieces" Alfred replied.

"I'm sure you've been made aware that Kirkland Manor is quite large." He pulled several photos from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

"Yup" he licked some whipped cream off of his fork.

"Arthur planned on taking you over there on Thursday. However, I think you would benefit from being taken there today."

Alfred dropped his fork, "You got out of today's meeting!?" He grinned at Arthur, "Are you faking being sick? Do you need me to call in for you? Or is it me? Am I the " _ **sick**_ child" you have to stay home with-I can cough into the phone! Just give me the cue and-"

"No love, I wouldn't be going today. It would just be you and Rhys."

"Oh…" He frowned at his plate.

Well, that was no good.

He couldn't help giving a sidelong glance at his uncle. He was no King Claudius but...he still didn't feel entirely easy in the man's company. Dude shanked him. That was like...the first bullet point in his file on the guy. He was gonna have to win a lot of brownie points to overturn that dark blot on his record.

"But..."

Dammit. He could feel his heart sinking.

He looked up to see Arthur's tired eyes watching him.

Oh no...did Alfred have a night terror and couldn't remember? Was that why ARthur looked like hell? Was he up all night trying to calm him down?

"Am I...do you…"

His stomach flopped.

Arthur nodded patiently.

"Do you...need a break?"

"Wot?"

"...am I…" he swallowed "I know I came early and...that was probably a pain...I mean I'm not mad about it...just...you can be honest...am I...in the way?"

"No!" Arthur barked fiercely, slamming his fork down and making the whole table rattle. "Of course not."

He took several deep breaths before replying, "Of course not. No. That's...that's just not the case at all. Rhys just thinks...he just thinks it's unfair that the other children will know the estate well and you...well you've never been there..."

"Yes, the others have had numerous occasions to acquaint themselves with the grounds and I think-"

"Oh." It was kinda embarrassing how relieved he felt. He picked his fork back up and sawed at a crispy part of the pancake, "Yeah...Mattie said the rest of you always go there for Christmas."

Arthur nodded.

"If we get there early," Rhys added "You'll be able to tell the cook your preferences and we should be able to get you and your cat settled in."

"But when would Dad-"

"Arthur will come on Thursday."

His father stared hard at the newspaper on the table.

"Oh…"

Alfred chewed his bottom lip.

He'd kind of envisioned Arthur showing him around. His old man had been really amped up about showing him the gardens. And Alfred knew himself well enough to know...that there was no way, he'd be able to keep himself from exploring them once he got there.

"What is your answer?"

"Um...like...now?"

"Yes, Alfred, now. If we want to make good time-"

"Now, now?" He gawked in alarm.

"Yes. If you'd like to go, we need to get you packed immediately."

Alfred stared at Arthur, who continued to not meet his eyes-taking a deep drink from his teacup.

He looked over at the clock-Arthur had to leave in ten minutes! Which meant...they wouldn't even get a proper goodbye!

He fidgeted in his seat.

Two days...maybe even three...with no one but Rhys: The-Disapprover-Of-Many-Things as his travel buddy? Yeah, he'd probably learn a lot of magic and could build as many forts as he wanted but...dude...yeesh...

"And you won't be able to come until Thursday?"

Arthur nodded.

He glanced at Rhys, "And you have to leave today?"

"I'd like to leave today."

"But you don't _have_ to?"

Rhys stared at him and motioned with his hand for him to go on.

"I mean...could you go tomorrow?"

Alfred could last a day with Rhys. He knew that. He could do that.

"It's just...I could go if it was tomorrow. I just...I mean...you're like 'Decide NOW' and it makes me kinda EEP! And it's not like you're taking me to Disneyland Paris...or else it would be YES...so much YESSSSS...and I would call in for you Dad, regardless if you wanted me to or not. But I can do tomorrow. That'll give me time to get all my stuff packed and mentally prepare myself for another epic battle of wrestling Americat into his carrier."

His cat who was currently winding itself through the legs of his chair, hopeful for scraps, meowed in confirmation.

* * *

Arthur steepled his fingers and bared his teeth at the balding blond standing across from his desk, "You will have that report on my desk by five!"

"Sir!?"

"By five, John. By five. Or so help me, I'll see to it you-"

The man rushed out-nothing like the fear of early job termination to squeeze productivity out of workers.

He leaned back in satisfaction-ignoring the mutters of "Well he's back to himself" made as people crossed by his office.

He had high hopes. Alfred had been able to postpone Rhys's plans by one day. If Arthur could get that bloody report done...

He checked his watch. He had another five minutes before it was time to return to the conference; he took a swig from his water bottle and gave a bit to the plant on his desk.

He studied it curiously, was that?

Yes; It was starting to bud out of season.

Well, plenty of plants were flowering out of season this winter, but he had a strong feeling it was Alfred and not the abnormal climate responsible for these buds.

He felt his lips twitch into a smile; Goodness, Alfred's gardening magic was quite potent, wasn't it? He was going to love that garden, and that garden was going to love him back.

"Arthur!" A green blur streaked by his head.

He nearly dropped the bottle.

"Mint?"

"O Arthur!"

He set the water down and hastily crossed the room to close the door of his office.

If someone witnessed him appearing to talk to himself...well…questions would be asked, appointments would be made, and Arthur didn't feel up to spending a winter in a facility popping pills in paper cups.

"Mint, what is it? I thought we agreed not to meet here after Marianne nearly-"

Mint zoomed around the room fretting, "I'm so sorry, Arthur. I'm so, so sorry. I ran into some trouble with some _**very**_ rude gnomes and I had to take the long way round and then! Because I took the other route, the smog was terrible and I got all disoriented and went the wrong way. Which was bad...but good...but bad, but goooood, because there was a hinkypunk leading this poor jogger all around and I HAD to do something-"

Arthur's eyes widened in concern, "Is the jogger alright?"

"Yes, yes...she's alright."

"Well then," Arthur clapped his hands together "I don't see why you're so worked up. You did a kind thing for that poor mortal, she'd have found an early grave if you hadn't interve-"

"Arthur!" She hovered riiiight in front of his face and patted his nose apologetically.

Oh dear. She hadn't done that in centuries. The first time had been he was very small and while chasing her in a game of tag, she'd accidentally led him into a ditch filled with nettles. His nose had been the only part unmolested with nettle stings and she'd patted him there while he wailed for Modor. For the rest of his childhood, she'd taken to tapping her paws on his nose whenever she felt the need to console him.

Thankfully, she'd stopped once he was knighted. Otherwise, Sir Lancelot and the others would never have let him live it down.

"I was late! I was so very late! Oh Alby, I'm soooo sorry. I checked in with Old Man Lome on the way back. And-and-oh, it's such rotten luck! He didn't have any trouble at all! Alby...the Unseelie Court got their letter first."

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Rock Band. Or the Welsh fairy tale: _The Boy That Visited Fairyland._ Or Mozart. Or Pop Tarts.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). American perspective on how smiling can be 'misinterpreted' in other countries; we're not interested, just cheerful. Go away : D Mentions of Tony and shameless headcanons regarding him. American codeword: interesting. If we can't think of anything positive to say about your statement/play/art/anything but don't want to hurt your feelings...we'll remark that it's "interesting." Otherwise we'll use more excited phrases like "fantastic," "amazing," "epic," etc. and we'll be quick to point out the things we enjoyed. If something truly is "interesting" we'll be sure to elaborate why that is. Otherwise...if we just say it's "interesting" without giving evidence to that claim…*shakes head* sorry but whatever you dragged us to/showed us was awful or dull or both. And then we just smile and nod until you give the hard glare and demand honesty. Fluff. Feels. Tsunderes.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! I read and re-read them often to keep me pumped up. In other news, a couple of you may have noticed that I finally finished my story image. I'm gettin' better with my art tablet/program XD. Enjoy! As we move steadily towards the abyss : D

 **Chapter 25: William Shakespeare Meets Jerry Springer**

* * *

Alfred dutifully held up a handful of screws for Rhys to choose from as the older man set Arthur's door back on its hinges. He'd been about to do it himself, but Rhys's eyes had bugged out at the sight of him balancing on a ladder with a drill gun.

Personally, he'd been surprised that Arthur was handy enough to even own a drill and that their morning trip to the hardware store hadn't required them to buy one.

He kept waiting for a chewing out, but...nothing.

Usually breaking stuff earned him a stern lecture, but neither Arthur or Rhys mentioned the door at breakfast.

Rhys only remarked once they finished, that they'd need to have Scotland teach him how to pick a lock...as it was more cost-effective by having less collateral damage.

He'd squirmed a little bit, because he had a long-ingrained habit of busting down whatever door was in his way...he blamed his Wild West days. Still, he could see how lock-picking would be useful...a little subterfuge now and then wouldn't hurt.

Tex always said it was easy to figure out which parts of town Alfred's group of marshals had been through.

While Rhys made lunch, he began the unhappy task of gathering up all his stuff.

It was kind of like he and Rhys knew they were on kitchen timers-they could only really handle each other for brief spurts. Once they dinged-they both got snippy. Time apart allowed them to reset themselves, so they could better tolerate one another later.

Alfred sighed; Rhys just...wasn't as cool Uncle Alistair or as fun as Uncle Reilley.

He couldn't help feeling a little melancholy as he unhooked the _Rock Band_ equipment. Just as he'd expected, his old man had enjoyed the toy and they'd probably end up being too busy at the Manor to play again.

While he waited for his last load of laundry to dry and for Rhys to call him to come eat, he made his way around the house picking up odds and ends: a manga book here, a cat toy there, a coat, a shoe, a marker.

Straightening and tidying and cleaning until England's house resembled its stuffy, museum-esque, Pre-America glory.

As he was packing everything into his suitcase for Part 2 of his Master Plan: _Be Cool-Rule Yule,_ Texas hit him up for a videochat.

" _Say hello Papi!" The Texan ordered-snagging his father in a headlock as he passed by behind the couch._

" _¡Hola, Alfredo!" The Spaniard greeted with a wave-completely unfazed._

Alfred stared-amazed that Spain was letting Texas do that.

Whoa.

Romano had really broken that dude in, hadn't he?

He remembered having to outline appropriate physical interactions for the Italian when he'd been working in his house.

That he was NOT allowed to elbow or push people around. It wasn't really a problem Alfred had to deal with-Romano had been pretty intimidated by Alfred's muscles-but the other man had a nasty habit of bullying clerks and harassing female workers.

Alfred had to tell him repeatedly that any girl that happened to smile at him or make eye contact was NOT necessarily interested. And it was absolutely NOT alright to follow her out of a club or bar or down the street.

Seriously...frickin' creepy behavior.

He knocked that off when Alfred made sure to follow _**him**_ one night, cracked his knuckles menacingly, and offered Romano the experience of being ran outta town on a rail.

He couldn't even imagine trying to put Arthur in a "friendly" headlock. Old man would go berserk.

" _Don't add an 'o'" Texas growled giving his father a shake before releasing him._

"So it's just been the two of you, then?" Alfred asked.

" _Yeah, a couple more are gonna turn up tomorrow and Mexico will be here Satur-"_

He wondered if Tex felt half as anxious as he did at the prospect of meeting up with other former wards.

" _There's so much fish here Al! I mean there are tons of different kinds of seafood! Tons! So many different crustaceans and fish and-and-and well, the market smells reeeeeeeaaaaallly bad, but...I gotta say. It's worth it to get Papi what he needs in order to cook and-next time he comes by my place, I'm gonna have him try some gator meat-you know how I can make a mean pot of-"_

" _I tell you mijo. Papi has already eaten...many...unique...meals and doesn't need-"_

" _Yeah, but that was like starving explorer style-I'm talking about a spicy gumbo that'll-"_

" _We will see" Spain smiled, gently patting him on the head-taking care to ruffle the dark curls before taking his leave._

Tex was trying very hard to frown, but couldn't quite manage it.

" _He's...so embarrassing. I swear...Anyway...How have you been gettin' on?"_

Dang.

Put him on the spot.

He was glad his brother seemed to be having a good, stress free vacation.

If only he could say the same!

Dude, there'd been so much emotional drama going on under this roof and he had the uneasy feeling it'd just get worse once everybody met up. Oh yeah, it was gonna be William Shakespeare Meets Jerry Springer. He could feel it.

He grinned as brightly as he could, "S'going great!"

* * *

Arthur entered his home thoroughly spent; every limb was sore, his back ached, and his eyes burned with fatigue.

The time he spent trying to convince Mint that he could sort out the letter fiasco made him late to the conference, which meant an embarrassing trudge to his seat and numerous "sorry's" as he endured sidelong glares from his coworkers.

He'd stayed several hours late in an effort to get as much work as possible done and reaffirm his dedication to his job.

Still, entering his house after ten gave him a sense of unease rather than accomplishment.

He slipped off his shoes and set his briefcase down-trying to ignore the pang he felt seeing Alfred's suitcase and Americat's carrier sitting in the hall.

He tore his gaze away. He'd need to rise early and write the UnSeelie Court. Then he'd need to see if he could persuade Wales to spare a bit of magic and "fire-send" it to ensure the UnSeelie Court received it immediately.

Arthur's magic reserves were too low for such a showy feat, plus he'd never had much of a talent for summoning or sending even when he was fully energized.

God, it was such a mess.

He'd done his best to comfort Mint but...

He could only imagine how angry the UnSeelies had been to find only "they" received a letter barring them from Alfred's presence.

No wonder those damned Dartmoor Pixies had infiltrated the house. They thought they were allowed!

And naturally, the Seelies would've gloated over it too.

It wasn't exactly a secret that given the typical behavior of the two courts, Arthur preferred the Spring and Summer Reigning Seelies versus the Autumn and Winter UnSeelies.

Yes, they were both incredibly mischievous, but mortals usually survived their encounters with the former...while the latter…were known to...

The latter...

Well…

Most fairy tales tended to be grim for a reason.

Even so, England tried his damnedest to be fair. However much time he spent with one, he allotted for the other.

But with this turn of events...

They'd think it was blatant favoritism and even after it was explained as a simple mishap.

Blast...with his luck, they'd likely demand a favor of some sort. Might have to enchant a jewel or attend a fairy birth or offer a blessing or something or other.

He loosened his tie.

All the lamps had been extinguished save one guiding light Rhys had left on over the stairs for him.

A Post-It Note on the banister mentioned that there were leftovers from dinner.

It was testament to his exhaustion that it took him several moments of bewildered blinking and thinking to place the author of the note.

The elegant loopy cursive was so far removed from Rhys's narrow stilted style (honestly, he wasn't sure when his brother would accept that the age of carving into stone was over) that he found himself tracing it with a finger.

 _Food in fridge._

 _Reheat with microwave: 1 min 18 s._

 _Do not deviate from instructions._

 _Thank you._

Alfred wrote him…

Not in a left-handed scrawl. Not on a wrinkled, grease-stained scrap of paper. A note unsullied by "text-lingo." No unnecessary smiley faces or absurd doodles of himself riding an eagle with American flags in both hands.

Just a simple note penned to him...in beautiful cursive…

He had a strong desire to keep it in his top dresser drawer with a myriad of other uplifting notes and drawings his other colonies had gifted him with throughout the years…

As a...bookmark of sorts...holding a place in that drawer until the boy wrote him a proper letter.

He loosened his tie even more.

Every instinct urged him to slip into bed and rest already. And he was eager to follow through on that plan-as soon as he made sure Alfred was safely tucked in his bed.

He frowned as he noticed a sliver of light coming from the child's room. Was he having trouble falling asleep? Alfred's door was slightly ajar.

"If you're too tired," Rhys murmured "we can finish tomorrow-"

Arthur scowled. Yes, he wanted Alfred to receive magical instruction from his relatives and he could well-remember long nights of his brothers "correcting" his casting.

' _No Albion, straighten your spine!'_

' _No Albion, feet farther apart!'_

' _No Albion, your pronunciation is all wrong!"_

But Alfred and Rhys were travelling tomorrow! The child needed to rest without thoughts of how he'd done everything "wrong" looming over him.

Just as righteous anger began bubbling-there was a sullen "No."

"Alfre-"

"...keep going! At least...until he's home. I can't sleep...until he's home...He texted you, right?"

"He texted me" Rhys affirmed.

"And it was a while ago, right?"

"He'll be along anytime."

Warmth fluttered through Arthur's heart; he'd been missed. Somehow...each time he heard that, he just…

There'd been so many occasions where it scarcely seemed like his presence or absence mattered to the boy at all.

He was about to take that as his cue to enter when curiosity struck; exactly which lesson was Wales teaching?

More Numerology? Perhaps an introduction to Astrology?

Rhys hummed thoughtfully as he found his place, "Now where was I-Ah yes. Elidyr followed the elves through a dark passage that opened up into a fairy kingdom of splendor-"

Arthur's jaw dropped. His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

"It was a wondrous land-the likes of which the boy had never seen. And all the beings he saw seemed so lively and-"

A fairy tale!

They weren't having a lesson at all!

Rhys, of all people, was reading a fairy tale. And Alfred was listening.

"Was it really? Wondrous, that is?" Alfred interrupted.

Rhys shrugged "I suppose. To one unfamiliar with-"

"I mean if something was really wondrous it'd be like...it'd be like drawing water from a well that was in the sky! Or-or-or a beanstalk that floated sideways or matchsticks that could become celery if you wanted them to."

Rhys coughed, "Yes, well...er...I suppose all of those things could be wondrous. Alchemy is wondrous. I can attest to that. I see botany will...be a subject _**you**_ fancy. Gardener Magic and all...however, in the context of this story. I disagree. Wondrous simply means it inspires 'wonder' or 'delight.' Remember, Elidyr is a peasant learning at a monastery. To him, the sight of a castle and meeting the royalty residing in it-"

"Nuh-uh! You don't know that!" Alfred argued.

"Alfred, I'm just reading you the text, it says 'wondrous'-"

"Yeah...but...no. _**You're**_ saying that it's only wondrous cuz he's a peasant. Like peasants don't see neat things. That's just not true! We see all sorts of stuff! Heck, we probably see crazier things than you guys in your castles do. I'm probably like...the patron saint of that-one of my besties is an illegal alien-"

"I don't think that's the correct term-"

"From outer space!"

"...wha-what?"

"Tony won't take the naturalization test. Which is irritating cuz you _**so**_ can't complain, if you don't vote. That's just...that just drives me crazy. I keep nagging but...he keeps blowing it off like it's not a big deal. And he belongs to a different Star System and I guess there are tax things he'd have to check off if he admitted he's been living on the surface. His job has rules and he wasn't really supposed to be talking to me to begin with. S'posed to be all surveillance and no intervention but...his ship had a malfunction and it came down. Anyways, he has to make periodic trips back to report. Ya know; new technologies, new diseases all that fun stuff for posterity. He'll probably be back in a couple years-none of his coworkers are that crazy about this area. Guess we're like the slummy, downtown sector. Nobody's gonna fight him for it."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, he really loves pizza. And for a while, he only trusted pizzerias that were owned by people named Tony. So I nicknamed him and it stuck. It's really funny though. Cuz I didn't know Tex was Antonio Jr.! Ya know that that means?! BOTH of my besties are Tony's! Tony and Toni. Seriously. Lol."

"You've gone on quite a tangent" Wales muttered less than amused. "Shall we continue our story?"

"Oh...right...RIGHT! But first! Peasants! I just think it's awfully presumptuous of you to down us collectively like that-"

"I am not 'downing' you" Wales interrupted "I think your personal experiences may be coloring your interpretation of the text and making you oddly sensitive to-"

"Yes you are! You're all 'he's a peasant.' Your nose does this twitch thing when you're being haughty."

England stifled a chuckle; because Rhys's nose DID twitch when he was being snobbish.

"..."

"He's the main character, dude! Get over it!"

"Fine" Rhys cleared his throat "For reasons unknown and we will assume highly mystical, Elidyr found the kingdom wondrous. He followed the two elves and met their King-"

England gave the door a knock and then entered, "Hello there."

Rhys blushed a bit from his spot in a chair drawn close to the bed. He was dressed in a long flannel nightshirt and robe with...almost comically fluffy slippers.

"Er…"

Both brothers shared an embarrassed glance. Rhys hated being caught off guard. He'd gotten so tangled up in his conversation with Alfred-he likely hadn't sensed Arthur's approach.

Meanwhile, Arthur just couldn't move past those slippers-like he had Yorkshire Terriers strapped to his feet.

"DAAAD!" Was the happy shriek that greeted his entrance.

Alfred threw his bed covers off, hopped down from the bed, and barreled into his legs with enough force that Arthur was glad that he'd had the foresight to buy sturdy furniture for this room. Clinging to the heavy dresser kept him from keeling over.

He couldn't bring himself to the admonish the boy for his exuberance when the child sagged in relief against his legs, "I've watched a lot of horror flicks that involve subway trains. Glad ya made it. I was gonna give ya til midnight."

"If those sort of movies give you the willies, you should rethink your choice about selecting them to watch in the first place."

The child craned his neck to look up at him...and frowned-cheeks puffing with displeasure at the light scolding.

Arthur sighed.

He picked Alfred up, tried not to grimace when his back cracked, and tucked the child back into bed.

Alfred then waffled on and on. First about what he'd watched on the telly, then about odd people he'd seen at the hardware store (particularly the ones who had large noses), then about the bedroom door he and Rhys fixed, and finally about food-Alfred saved him some was he hungry? To which he answered "No."

He was too exhausted to be properly hungry. While the granola bar and yogurt he'd had at Parliament for dinner was by no means a fit meal-he was much too tired to bother with the hassle of fixing himself dinner. Eating so late at night...it would throw off his appetite for the next day.

Rhys seemed a bit miffed that whatever interest Alfred had in his story was lost to Arthur.

Arthur sat down beside Alfred on the bed (careful not to squash the little feet) and removed his tie altogether.

Rhys was starting to look annoyed at the interruption; judging from the way he was settled in the chair-one leg crossed over the other, a large leather book across his lap and the way one finger was tapping his place on the page-he'd gotten rather comfortable in the storyteller spot.

No doubt he'd become accustomed to large blue eyes widening with interest as the story's plot reached its climax.

Even if Alfred could delay a tale's progress now and then by asking an absurd amount of questions. It was rather endearing; it usually meant he was very curious about the setting and circumstance of the characters within. It meant he cared.

Alas...poor Rhys...

Right now Alfred only had eyes for Arthur.

Said eyes were currently scrutinizing him….intensely.

The eyes he could take, it was the fearless mouth that often got on his nerves.

Still…he was too tired to be properly annoyed and there was the fact that this wasn't a large obnoxious adult poking at him.

No…

This was his little child….making all the inappropriate comments that children were wont to make because they observed their caretakers so very closely.

Yes Alfred, his suit had sweat stains.

Numerous turns speaking in front of a large audience within a close proximity of an overheating projector did that.

Yes Alfred, it was late and he was getting "prickly." Five o'clock shadow had long since made its appearance on his face.

Yes Alfred, his...socks didn't match. He must've been...distracted this morning...

Rhys straightened both legs for a moment and then crossed the other on top.

Arthur gave him a meaningful, "Thank you" and "Goodnight."

There was no reason to keep him up when there was no telling how long Alfred's interrogation would last.

Rhys fidgeted with the book before ultimately leaving it on the chair as he left.

Arthur eyed the bookmark-realizing that Rhys truly had wanted that tale to be finished.

Still, he'd gotten to have Alfred to himself all day. He should've started sooner. Could've peppered the day with stories. Alfred used to love that back when he was very small.

His eyes slid over to where Alfred's suitcase stood zipped and ready for transport. An outfit for the next day was folded on top of the dresser. Alfred's toiletries were in a large Ziploc bag; ready for one more use and then to be stowed away.

Damn, it made his heart sink no matter how he tried to resist the feeling.

He looked down at the little one, who stared first at the door that Rhys had left open and then at the book and then hopefully at Arthur.

They both needed to turn in and rest.

Arthur knew that was the practical thing to do; tomorrow would be a long day indeed.

Yes...rest…

They ought to...rest...

He pulled the child into his lap and reached for the book. For goodness sake, they hadn't seen each other all day!

They'd rest in just a bit...right after they finished that story...and maybe...one more afterwards.

* * *

Rhys woke when the sun peaked through the slats of the guest room's blinds. Thankfully, his room at Kirkland Manor would have blackout curtains.

Still, waking early allowed him ample time to do yoga, shower, dress, and make breakfast.

Rhys eyed the kitchen's clock.

He pulled the whistling kettle off the stove, expecting the bustle of tea making to draw Arthur downstairs.

Yet, all remained quiet and still.

Didn't he have a report, or something?

The food was going to go cold if Arthur and Alfred kept dawdling.

A tentative peek into Arthur's room revealed his bed was made and that the area was devoid of its occupant.

Alfred had yet to make an appearance either this morning, and he'd told the boy firmly that they were absolutely leaving by nine on the dot. Regardless of the boy's state of dress...or undress.

And he'd made sure not to crack a smile as he announced that-staying stoic as he explained how uncomfortable and cold it could be riding the train in a towel.

The boy had stared at him with eyes the size of saucers as Rhys delivered that declaration.

Now suspicious, he made his way to Alfred's room...where he found his brother still in his clothes from the previous day, curled up with Alfred in a mess of blankets.

Rhys's book of fairy tales was at the foot of the bed. Judging from where the bookmark was now resting, they'd read a few more.

Hmph.

Welsh tales should've had a Welsh narrator.

He glanced at his family members.

Arthur had a careful arm cradling his child to his chest. It seemed that Alfred had taken that as an invitation to burrow himself as close as he could; goodness, Arthur might've even been able to button his jacket closed...if he'd had a mind to try.

He deftly removed his phone from his pocket and snapped several quick pictures.

Satisfied with the images, he reached over and set a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

He gave a little shake.

"Arthur."

Arthur grunted and frowned.

"Arthur, Alfred needs to get up and dressed."

Nothing.

"Albion."

Still nothing.

Perhaps, he should approach this from a different angle.

"Alfred" he tapped the child gently.

"America."

There was a grumble.

"America."

"Nonono" the child muttered sulkily-bottom lip jutting.

He stared darkly at his brother. It was clear who Alfred inherited his petulance from. He'd definitely witnessed that expression more often than he'd liked through the ages.

Rhys frowned-very gently maneuvering his hands around the child and began to pull him away-untangling him from his little makeshift cocoon.

The immediate loss of warmth made the child whimper.

Rhys gave him a soft shake in hopes of awakening him and quieting the noise. It had struck him as he reached for Alfred, that it would be for the best if he could get the child up and dressed before Arthur awoke.

That way it would be a brief goodbye and Arthur wouldn't have the time to be woeful over it.

However Arthur reacted to the separation would set a precedence for how Alfred would view it.

If Arthur didn't get to mope, Alfred would likely be optimistic and see it as a chance for adventure.

Then later when Arthur called to check in on them (as he undoubtedly would), Alfred would be cheerful enough with the situation that Arthur could feel confident that he was in no danger. He could then slacken their bond a bit.

Arthur would have some time to spend attending his own needs.

Determined now, Rhys gave a stronger tug and a more vigorous shake.

Unfortunately, rather than waking the boy up, the child released a sharp cry and was abruptly snatched back into Arthur's arms. Arthur held Alfred tightly as he glared at Rhys-bleary eyed and teeth bared.

It was one of those moments where if Rhys reached again, he'd be bit.

Gentlemanly conduct be damned.

Rhys could sense it.

Arthur had a terrible tendency of doing that when he was deeply distressed.

And while Scotland often complained that he was the only one England did that too. The reality was that usually Rhys and Reilley were better at reading the warning signs he gave.

Usually, he'd pull back. Bare his teeth once. Growl once. Hiss and then bite.

And if you were quick enough, once the hiss started you could still maneuver your hands out of the way.

It was a habit he'd developed after...after Rome…

And they were never able to break him of it.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

What was particularly concerning was...he skipped the first one...went straight to the teeth.

Unease churned his stomach.

 _ **That**_ was the warning and there wasn't going to be another.

That didn't bode well at all.

Rhys watched the child disappear from sight as Arthur turned over onto his side.

He stared at Arthur's back-eyebrows twitching and walked around the bed-patience gone.

"Arthur!" he growled, kicking the leg of the bed-causing it to shake. He kept his arms carefully folded against his chest, "Arthur, he needs to get up now! And you have work also! Don't you?"

One green eye opened.

"It's time! Arthur get up already!"

"Wot are you barking about?"

"Arthur...Alfred and I are running late, now!"

An hour later found his brother kneeling in the entryway in his rumpled business suit looking...miserable.

Arthur straightened the child's coat and pet his golden hair.

"I...I'll...I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Alfred asked.

Arthur pulled him in close and nodded.

When two minutes turned into ten, Rhys cleared his throat: "Arthur, we really must depart soon."

After two extra kisses to the child's forehead, he let Alfred go.

He surprised Rhys by offering him a handshake which he used to pull him in for a hug...so he could hiss in his ear, "Don't you _**dare**_ take any risks whilst he's in your care."

* * *

Alfred sighed and plucked at the booster seat.

This morning Arthur had actually chased them down the block in his slippers with the damned booster seat over his head.

There'd be a car waiting for them after their train ride and rather than let the staff allow Alfred to take ONE drive without it…

Sullen-faced, Alfred poked at the leather carseat.

As if they hadn't had enough crap to drag along with their suitcases and Americat's carrier-they had to bring _this_.

This...symbol of his downsized shame.

He risked a glance at Rhys who had his nose buried in another book.

He'd read the whole time they were on the train too.

His uncle had offered to buy him a book at the station, but he'd had to refuse-explaining that sometimes reading while riding made him motion sick.

Sometimes it didn't but…

If he was gonna chance it, he'd have definitely done so with Arthur and not Rhys.

Rhys was NOT his biggest fan to begin with, and vomiting on his shoes would only make things worse.

Yeah...no way he was chancing that.

He was, however, starting to get the impression that Rhys had a soft spot for Mattie. When they passed a newsstand featuring some Canadian hockey star he couldn't recall the name of, Rhys got to talking about Al's blood-related neighbor to the north.

It was pretty much a monologue of how much he was looking forward to seeing Canada and asking his opinion on various books and ballets and sports. When he finally wrapped up like ten minutes later, he looked expectantly to America to parrot similar statements back, but…

...a pacifier…

He gave him a pacifier.

And yeah...maybe it _**was**_ just a joke and he _**was**_ being a baby about it and proving his brother right but…

He gave an awkward, vague shrug of "...yeah…it'll be...interesting."

The tone of voice Rhys used when discussing Mathieu was so...different. He lost that flat, brusqueness that Alfred was growing accustomed to.

He'd just assumed that was how Rhys was with everyone.

He wasn't sugary with him or Arthur. And Tex had labelled him as the "haughty" one. Reilley was the "chatty" one. Alistair the "plaid" one and Arthur supposedly flip flopped between being the "bossy" one and the "crazy" one.

Tex was still trying to convince him that Arthur had driven his truck on two wheels and sidewall skied.

Tch. He wasn't buying it.

Arthur was like...the slowest, safest driver in the world! Whenever Arthur got to drive them to stuff, they were almost always late because he insisted on driving the exact speed limit.

He shook his head-trying to dislodge thoughts of Arthur which only served to remind him that he wouldn't get to see him until sometime tomorrow. Staring out the window didn't help either because everything was green and reminded him of his eyes.

And the sky was so grey and gloomy and as it started to rain it made him remember...

He shook his head.

Yeah...Rhys was definitely the "haughty" one.

He could totally envision him sneering at Tex for having the audacity to serve them all Pop Tarts for breakfast.

And now America suspected that if he'd been Canada and not himself, Wales might've upgraded them for a "First Class" trip.

Not that he had anything against "Standard Class."

Or even paying his own way...which he'd had to do…

Or buying lunch for himself…

Which was fine! Cuz he was independent! And totally used to looking out for himself...

But…

If he was gonna pay for his ticket, shouldn't he be allowed to splurge and get himself a cushy spot if he wanted it?

Or if they were gonna travel together...couldn't Rhys at least...talk to him a little bit?

He leaned back into the booster seat and kicked his heels. He'd drained the battery of his Ipod listening to music on the train.

Still…

At least the Bentley that had picked them up was nice and the chauffeur was a fan of Mozart.

But nobody would talk.

The chauffeur, Mr. White, drove. The middle aged man did not smile or make small talk. He packed the "boot," opened and closed doors, and drove. Rhys had frowned at Alfred's attempts to engage the human in conversation.

" _He has a job to do, Alfred. Don't distract him."_

It was practically a miracle when Arthur called.

" _How are you, dear?"_

Lonely. And Tired. With a sore butt from the flat seats of the train.

"M'ok."

Arthur had pretty much been a constant presence since Alfred's arrival in England. Suddenly being without him, made him feel so...

" _Have you eaten?"_

"Yeah."

" _Is he treating you well?"_

He wasn't treating him mean...exactly. He just...he just wasn't...wasn't Arthur.

"S'ok."

" _Are you certain?"_

"Yeah…"

" _Are you tired?"_

"Yeah…"

" _Perhaps, I should let you make use of this time and take a kip-"_

"No! Don't hang up, don't hang up, please don't-"

" _I'm here! I'm here, Sweet."_

Dammit. He curled his toes and fidgeted in the seat.

"Can you…?"

" _Can I? What? What is it, darling heart?"_

He took a deep breath, faltering a bit as his face burned, "Can...you just...talk...with me…?"

 _Cuz I miss you._ It didn't quite leave his mouth. And thank God for that because he could sense that Rhys was listening to him and he knew he sounded like such a little kid.

Making such a mushy request...

Dammit, even Mr. White seemed to be sitting a bit too straight and stiff-even for a driver with good posture and manners.

But...but...but he just needed to hear him!

Arthur talked. First about the weather and how it had begun raining where he was too, next about several mishaps that happened during the conference the previous day, then to several French movies that Francis wanted him to personally review.

" _The_ _Frog really is asking for it. I'll take care to remind him of that when he complains that I was too harsh."_

"Did you ever visit...like Elidyr?"

" _Naturally."_

"Was it wondrous?"

" _Darkly wondrous. Capable of magic that is quite captivating in its beauty or...cruelty. They're fey creatures, darling. They operate by a system of rules that are...difficult at times to understand."_

"Oh."

" _We'll make our rounds and visit the Courts when you're a bit older. Once I've had time to prepare you for it."_

Alfred frowned. Was that the polite way of saying he didn't want to watch Alfred make a fool of himself?

" _I remember when Mother took me. It was Beltane. I thought we were collecting an awful lot of ribbons, shells, and flowers for ourselves. But when we made a left turn and travelled deeper into the forest instead of towards the village-"_

Alfred listened raptly to his father's tale until his cellphone began to beep-signalling his phone was about to die.

"Your story…" he murmured mournfully. It was just getting really good! They'd had to sneak past an ogre!

" _We can talk more later, pet."_

He nodded, "I'll charge my phone."

" _That's a good lad. And I'll talk to you tonight, alright?"_

"Kay."

" _I love you, my Sweetling."_

Alfred bit his lip and gripped the phone tighter, "G-Goodbye...Daddy."

He turned it off and shoved it in his pocket, blinking hard.

When he finally looked up, he noticed that Rhys had put down his book and was observing him with intent hazel eyes.

Mr. White was also taking a few seconds now and then to stare at him through the rear view mirror.

Great.

Just...great...

Alfred wiped his nose with the sleeve of his blue turtleneck and turned his head away from them to watch the greenery rushing by.

Stupid rainy England.

He wiped at his nose again.

Why did everything have to be **_so_ ** green?

* * *

Read & Review Please! : D


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Downton Abbey. Or Crayola. Or L'oreal.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). The naming of floors in the U.S. vs. the U.K.. U.K. buildings have a 'groundfloor' and we in America call _that_ the first floor. Our second floor is their first floor. It causes all sorts of fun confusion for tourists in both places. Blink and you'll miss it reference to Benedict Arnold-Saratoga monument. Another Arthur and Alfred centric chapter. And more feels heading your way...yay : D

 **AN:** Whoooo! We broke the 1,000 Review mark! Yessss! Catchin' up to Wendigo fast! And without further ado here's the next chap! : DDD

 **Chapter 26: Dammit Foot! Get Out Of Mouth!**

* * *

Alfred felt his eyes bug out as the car pulled up.

Dude, the pictures hadn't done it justice; "Manor" was a quaint word for the sprawling estate.

It was massive. Turrets and spires...check. Huge double doors...check. Tons of windows...check. Awesome Gothic architecture...check.

The only thing missing was like...a moat.

If there'd been a moat...it would've _**had**_ to be named Kirkland Castle. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Far larger than Alfred's 1800s retreat…and Arthur made such a big deal over "Kirkland Hall" when...compared to this...

Compared to this...

"Stop gaping; you're making a buffoon of yourself" Rhys tutted as he exited the car.

Alfred fumbled with his seatbelt and sidled out of the vehicle and onto the cobblestone driveway.

He tried to ignore the lavish setting of fountains and balustrades and elegant ironwork to better focus on helping the chauffeur with his bags, but Rhys pulled him away and gestured to two men that were approaching.

"But-but-but-"

This was the 21st Century!

Footmen were so…so...

Gah! It was like an unwelcome return to the Victorian Era.

Rhys steered him toward the entry where (his mouth went dry and stomach flopped) what seemed like an army of staff workers were filing out of the double doors and positioning themselves into an intimidating line of domestic workers.

Yeah, he sometimes watched Downton Abbey but…

He'd felt so much relief when he stopped having to visit with Arthur at a palace. Arthur's London home was way cozier and after WWII, the old man stopped hiring servants (well, other than that housekeeper dude). (He probably should've kept a cook.)

He could feel an intimidating amount of eyes on himself.

This kind of stuff made him hella uncomfortable. He thought he'd outlasted the stuffiness of "upstairs and downstairs." Yeah, there were worker bees of the domestic kind in the White House but...

He'd worked so hard to promote meritocracy. Back home, he was constantly advocating that people had the opportunity to be whatever they wanted to be (with the fine print being: as long as you have talent, discipline, and work ethic). Yeah, some folks argued that their opportunities were limited (sometimes with legitimate concerns, but more often than not, with a waaaah-I-didn't-get-a-participation-trophy-my-soul-is-crushed-forever-entitled-attitude-that-pissed-Al-off), but whatever "class" you were born in wasn't where you and your descendents were eternally "destined" to stay (barring marriage).

"Nobody told me there'd be…"

"An estate this size needs a staff to properly care for it even when we have it closed for most of the year" Rhys explained "Naturally for an event such as this to run smoothly we have to hire on additional hands-usually, we enlist workers from our other properties first, but if the situation turns dire, I-"

Alfred stared. How many "properties" did the Kirkland clan own? And they tried to peg _**him**_ as the wasteful one?!

Americat began yowling his head off as his kennel was moved. Clearly, his "happy travel" pills had worn off.

He made to follow as the footmen spirited away his luggage and pet, but Rhys's hard heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

Rhys informed him that they'd take care of it all until Alfred found a suitable room.

"But Americat-"

"Is not beyond their skills, I assure you."

Alfred frowned at the snide tone.

Rhys steered him toward the great stone entrance, informing him in a low tone, "The man in the black suit is the butler of Kirkland Manor. When speaking to him, you will address him as Mr. Gray. The woman in blue is the housekeeper Mrs. Sutton. I expect you not to abuse them with whimsical demands that-"

Alfred gulped at the severe expression on the butler's face. Mr. Gray? More like Mr. Grim.

"Hello," Rhys greeted "a pleasure to see you all once more. With your assistance, I'm certain this year's Winter Holiday will be a grand success. Most of you are returning for another year of...I'd like to say festivity but more likely...mayhem."

There were a few chuckles.

"You may however notice a few faces missing, Miss Argall has gone on to university. We're all quite proud of her. Mr. Howell was recently married and the lovebirds are having their honeymoon. And we'll all deeply miss Mr. Carr, who sadly passed on this September."

Alfred tried not to shift awkwardly. He felt like such an outsider.

"As such, we welcome our new Groundskeeper, Mr. Moffett. And our two new domestic cleaners: Miss Appleby and Miss Baines. So yes, again welcome all new and not-so-new faces. By now you should've received a packet outlining the events planned and-"

Alfred scuffed a toe along the ground-vainly hoping this turned from a work style "Go Team" huddle to a St. Crispin's Day speech so all eyes would be on Rhys and Alfred could escape and rescue Americat.

But he no sooner moved one foot back (to at least get into position should an opportunity to leave present itself) when both of Rhys's hands clamped down on his shoulders and he was maneuvered in front of the Welshman.

" _ **This**_ is Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones" Rhys announced. "He is Admiral Kirkland's son. _**England's**_ son: America."

Interest burned in their eyes and Alfred cemented what he hoped was a pleasant (if slightly plastic) smile on his face.

"This will be his first stay at Kirkland Manor."

Something about Rhys's tone said: _'So yes, he'll be an idiot. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.'_

"It is my hope that you'll assist him as he acquaints himself here. I am certain-"

Whatever he said after that was lost to Alfred's inner mantra of: don't slouch. Don't slouch. Don't slouch.

The staff stood stiffly as the austere looking Mr. Gray introduced them all.

Eeeyeah...hardly any of that sunk in.

Ya know other than the fact that Mrs. O'Hannagain was the cook. It was important to make a good rapport with the cook cuz she could totally spit in your food if she wanted. It helped that the plump woman's smile was also genuine. Unlike the pleasant grimaces the others made. Whether that had to do with their line of work or the fact that they'd be dealing with an American who (no doubt they'd been informed) was a handful...was hard to say.

He could already sense that more dislike would come his way as he butchered or blanked out on their names.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to employ his usual method for that brand of awkwardness.

Following his injury in 1812, he'd forgotten a good deal of his assistants' and representatives' names (sometimes referring to them with names of people long deceased). Gradually, he came to just arbitrarily calling the person nearest him at anytime "Bob" whenever he needed something. It was better to do that than risk being snootily corrected if he guessed wrong.

Once he learned your name, he'd start calling you by it. And the ones who were poor sports stayed "Bob" even after he learned their proper names. It came to be known as the "Rite of Bob" and the human aides enjoyed not warning newbies about it and letting them figure it out on their own.

He almost tripped when his uncle abruptly began pushing him up the stairs and inside the building while handing him a folder that had the layout of the place by each floor.

Dammit. He remembered there was something about floor levels that were different here. What was it again?

"Now, there are several matters I need to attend to" Rhys stated "I will see you at tea time and we'll discuss your magic lesson for the evening."

"Um…?"

Dude, abandoning him?

"You are welcome to explore the estate. The staff can direct you if there's anywhere in particular you'd like to see. Should you find yourself alone and in need of aid, there are phones stationed throughout. Dial 'Help' and you should receive immediate assistance...or search and rescue if that's what's needed."

Rhys chuckled a bit to himself-apparently amused at the idea of Alfred getting _**so**_ lost he'd need a maid to come find him.

Alfred scowled and hugged his backpack to his chest. Geez, he'd thought his uncle had been ignoring him on the train and in the car!

"You'll also need to select a bedroom. Naturally most are taken, but I believe Reilley and I may have a few to spare. Mr. Gray has a roster with all the bedrooms on it. If you ask him, I'm sure he would be willing to help you. And while you could stay in a room of someone who won't be here, par exemple: India. Still, there will be many personal items and...well" Rhys gave him an unimpressed once over before clearing his throat "the prudent thing would be to lay claim to a room that doesn't yet have a resident. That way we can avoid any costly mishaps to begin with."

He thought Alfred would trash their stuff. Well, that was kinda insulting. Though admittedly, his track record wasn't that great.

Rhys turned on his heel and left.

He surreptitiously glanced around but the staff had dispersed like-like-like domestic ninjas!

He bit his lip. There were vases and maps and sculptures from the U.K.'s various campaigns and conquests all over the world; so much breakable stuff that it made him kinda nervous.

"Hello Master Alfred."

He jumped, "Eep!"

"My apologies," Mr. Gray frowned "I did not mean to startle you."

"Um...uh, h-hello Mr...Gray, right?"

"Indeed sir."

Come on American charisma, where are you?

"...I'm...America."

Crap. Rhys already said that.

Mr. Gray blinked.

"Er...the United States of...America."

Dammit foot! Get out of mouth!

"And how fares the former colonies?" the man quirked an eyebrow.

Alfred glared and hissed, "Freee!"

Yuppity yup yup. It was just gonna be one of those bad-first-impression days, he could feel it.

"I mean...gah...I'm sorry, dude...everything here's so...and he just-just. Did you see that? He just walked away! I've never been here before and he's all 'Godspeed, soldier.' And I mean he's like "go explore" but I don't wanna get yelled at cuz I went somewhere I wasn't s'posed to. And do I really need to view all these diagrams before I go anywhere? Gah, this always happens whenever I have to go to these kinds of places. I'm gonna get lost. And then everyone's gonna be like 'well, did you consult your map?' And I'll be like 'yeah.' And I'll start talking about it and then they'll be like 'Oh, well, things are actually different now. You have an old, outdated map...sorry. Could've sworn we gave you a new one.' I think they do that to me on purpose. Ya know? Well, you probably don't cuz...you know this place really well... _naturally_ cuz you...well...you work here and…" he ran a hand through his hair "Those guys...they took my cat somewhere, is he okay?"

A quick visit with Americat (and a thin layer of cat hair to his turtleneck) restored his spirits. And since Americat purred for Mr. Gray and had always been an excellent judge of character...Alfred decided the man couldn't be all bad and agreed to being given a tour of the estate.

* * *

Alfred tried.

Honestly, he really, really, really tried not to be bothered by the almost overwhelming amount of portraits everywhere; royals, aristocrats, artists, engineers, authors, and military officers, and...his wards-more than Alfred cared to count.

Arthur's walls were plastered with his history like garish psychedelic wallpaper. It made your eyes burn after a while and you couldn't escape it. And yeah, he knew Arthur had a life and that it...went on whether Alfred was with him or not but...

Alfred fidgeted as he glanced at a recent photo of them all smushed together.

Mr. Gray remarked it was from last year's Winter Holiday. And it proved that his old man did know he could smile in photos...if he wanted to.

When Mr. Gray asked if he was alright, he shrugged before murmuring "I heard that...in ancient times...in places like Egypt...and...Rome that if you ticked the right people off your name got chiselled off of...everything."

Alfred abruptly thought of the Saratoga Monument...and the conspicuous niche there. Though he hadn't gone that extra step and tried to erase the traitor's existence from memory. Still, it planted an unhappy thought:

Was _**he**_ viewed as the traitor here?

Was that why there were no photos of him? As well as no desire to take any photos with him?

"Sir?"

He forced a smile, "You probably expected me to look different, hmm? Ya know...taller at least. Maybe wider, if you buy into all those American stereotypes."

And he used to be taller. More muscular. A strapping young hero. He used to be something great, and bright, and just slightly imposing-but a cheerful grin could round his sharper edges most of the times.

And now he was...

"I recognized you right off."

"You...you did?"

Recognized?

He said 'recognized.'

But how? He hadn't let anyone snag a pic of him in this form.

He was led to the library where-

There.

On the wall was a large oil painting of him and Arthur in a...different library. Alfred couldn't remember for the life of him which castle they'd been staying at. It was so long ago, and thinking about it made his heart and his head twinge.

He missed Arthur.

How pathetic was that?

Wasn't even a full day.

He stared longingly at the portrait.

Arthur was all decked out in goofy 1660s garb which meant a ruff, doublet, and super frilly rhinegraves.

Alfred would admit he looked… "eh"...wearing one of his best white gowns which had enough lace to make guessing his gender a bit iffy.

He was seated on Arthur's knee with a small bouquet of flowers between his hands. Arthur had one arm holding onto America (balancing him) and the other held his plumed hat.

Stationed around them were stacks of books and flowers and a globe. The globe showed off Arthur's land along with the Eastern Coast of North America.

As Alfred's eyes drifted away from the painting, he immediately took notice of a very familiar book: _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight._

Eagerly, he pulled it out; remembering it to be in much better condition than his own. He bet it even still had all of its illustrations!

As he thumbed through, he realized that...

It _**was**_ in better condition...

Technically…

If only because Alfred's was essentially destroyed but he was too sentimental to ever discard it.

But...

Dammit…

As he flipped through the book, he noted how dogeared and worn it was.

Pages were wrinkled and creased and smudged.

And his ears began to ring with nearly forgotten scoldings of " _Do be gentle Alfred"_ and _"Dear, please don't hold the book by its pages_ " and " _Love, please decide: will you be eating a treat or reading a story? You're soiling the pages."_

Alfred worried his lip between his teeth.

Looking back now, it was obvious that Arthur had likely gifted him with his own edition to end the abuse on his-Arthur was crafty like that.

He'd even written a note in the copy he'd gifted Alfred with.

Unfortunately, that backfired spectacularly since it prompted a very, very young Alfred during one of his visits to his father's homeland to do the same.

Oh God...

There it was on the back cover. (He'd half-hoped Arthur would've covered it with a panel-the way libraries did when kids scribbled on the inside flaps of books.)

God...and at the time he'd thought himself so terribly clever; Daddy had written him a message at the front of his copy, so he'd write to Daddy using the end of his.

Scrawled in huge, clumsy, misspelled letters (that not only took up the last page and back cover, but weren't even all penned facing the right way) was the humiliatingly mushy message:

 _I luv yu Daddy_

 _Yu ar the behstest hero I no_

 _Bettir than Gawain_

 _Yu shud hav a book to_

 _Luv_

 _yor littel Alfred_

He felt his face burn as he shut the book and slid it back into its place; it was one thing to destroy his own copy, but he'd gone and ruined England's too.

The rest of the tour largely involved going over where they'd be dining, where the kitchen was, which parlors they'd be using the most.

Mr. Gray was greatly amused that Alfred insisted on being shown where the toilets were. He had his reasons! Ya know, cuz it was important to know where the most frequented (usually off entry ways) were and the most obscure ones (the ones no one would be in line for cuz they were out of the way).

Alfred liked to think he was a practical person. He did wish the corners of the man's mouth would stop twitching upward as Alfred used his emergency highlighter to mark the bathrooms on his layout of the house.

Damn, this place had too many stairs and apparently you were a wimp if you asked whether there were elevators here.

He was just...feeling a little lightheaded. Maybe he should've bought a second sandwich at lunch.

"So that's England's wing?" He pointed to a great archway where, perched at the top, hung a familiar white flag with a red cross on it.

"Yes, sir."

He usually always saw England sporting the Union Jack that it made him feel nostalgic seeing this one.

 _The flag unfurled as the wind blew-beckoning him to come outside and play._

 _He raced out the open door-dancing from foot to foot. He was still growing used to the feeling of woolen stockings and wasn't entirely sold on the boots adorning his feet, but it was nice not having to pluck burrs and stickers from between his toes._

Mr. Gray was pointing to a large hallway with doors lined on either side. Each room had a plaque and-

 _He watched Daddy interacting with the servant-hesitating between selecting a pistol or a "town" sword for their outing._

 _He kept asking the man when he was going to learn some skill with swords and guns._

 _There was something so impressive about watching men wield weapons. They always had swords in town and in stories and in pictures and in the one pretty stained glass window he'd seen._

 _All Alfred seemed to have was flower crowns and necklaces. And that was just in Spring._

 _He wasn't the only son with such desires._

 _He'd overheard many fathers in the village scoffing other boys' requests by saying that they'd learn when they could lift the weapon._

 _He'd been hoping against hope that Arthur would answer in that way; because if Alfred could lift a bison, he could definitely lift Arthur's sword. If he could just get permission to touch it._

 _But Arthur had simply answered, 'When I decide the moment is right.'_

 _Daddy settled on the pistol with the engravings; the one Alfred longed to hold._

Mr. Gray beckoned for him to hurry it up.

 _His father usually kept it in his desk and whenever Alfred's fingers neared its drawer, the boy was given a stern warning that Alfred wasn't to be near it._

 _He watched Arthur tuck the gun into his belt and use his coat to conceal it._

 _He chewed his bottom lip in discontent._

 _Arthur often insisted that this was "their" home, "their" house, "their" pantry, "their" food, "their" land…_

 _Soooo then...that pistol ought to count as "theirs" too, right?_

 _One of these mornings, Alfred planned, he'd rise early and trace those engravings as much as he wanted._

 _The servant then handed Daddy a basket where Alfred's nose could pick up the delectable smell of freshly baked baked bread._

 _It had that wonderful (not-made-by-Daddy) smell that made his mouth water._

 _He danced around, cheerfully sweeping his hands over flower blossoms. If it was like their last picnic there'd be cheese and jam and maybe apples!_

 _He grinned up at the sky and giggled as a large hand settled on his head and ruffled his hair._

 _He grabbed it with his left hand and they were off._

 _As they walked along swinging hands, warmth fluttered through his heart._

 _To have someone like this...caring for him…_

 _Someone who seemed so knowledgeable and strong and powerful who, for some reason, chose to protect Alfred of all people._

 _Like he was special…_

Until he wasn't.

Until he became an upstart of a colony who dared to want more.

 _The iron ring on his father's hand was very cool._

 _It was always so because Arthur enchant-_

Alfred blinked as static filled up his ears.

 _Iron was important because-_

The static became a roar.

 _Needed to be cold in order to-_

 _As if sensing Alfred was going to comment on it, Arthur opened his mouth to say-_

What? Wait...what did he say?

He stared blankly as Mr. Gray's mouth opened and closed. The man began walking back towards him.

He tried to meet him in the middle. He tried to shuffle over, but there was a weird disconnect in his mind, in his body, in his-

The room tilted oddly.

 _Father said something important and settled Alfred on his hip. He talked a bit more and then nuzzled Alfred's hair._

His old man had a habit of that-told him that his hair always carried the scent of flowers and fields and-

He'd never had the guts to ask anybody if that's what he smelled like now-because for years afterward he had the oh-so-lovely aroma of what Andrew Jackson dubbed "Ravaged land." He got burnt to the ground in 1812 and the proof was in the smell.

A smell that emanated strongly from him for several years as he recovered.

 _The acrid smell of burning hair._

 _The frantic beating of his heart._

 _The sound of the building being pilfered._

He was needed in the-

 _Library!_

He was needed in the-

 _Fiery, flickering, orange._

 _And he couldn't breathe._

 _He couldn't breathe._

 _His eyes stung from more than just smoke._

 _He couldn't believe it._

 _Didn't want to._

 _How could this have happened?_

 _How could he have let this happened?_

 _He_ _ **allowed**_ _this to happen..._

 _And all the air everywhere was gone._

 _He couldn't breathe._

 _And it didn't matter…_

 _Nothing did. His world had ended...and he was the only one that cared..._

* * *

Arthur rushed about completing last minute odds and ends in his office before he headed home for one last round of packing and a depressingly quiet evening (save one evening call to Alfred to make sure he was settling in alright).

Getting ready for work had been a solemn affair; the L'oreal fish-shaped shampoo bottle was gone, as was the Crayola pack that had been sharing the console table with his briefcase. There were no toys to trip on as he put on his shoes. And tonight he would dine alone.

He sighed and tried to shake off the melancholy that kept draping itself over him...like a flirty, tipsy France. There was still plenty to do; he needed to pack Barbados' and Seychelle's Christmas gifts (which were fragile enough he didn't trust them to be shipped with the others). He had to select several kitty toys for Camelot's entertainment. He needed to...to...make sure he had enough...socks and pants and...that he packed his toothbrush.

Much to do.

Quite a lot.

He stared longingly at his desktop calendar wishing he could will this day to end and begin the next already.

He wanted to have a magic lesson in the garden. Being in his element would bolster Alfred's confidence.

The child's reaction to his Numerology lesson had concerned him. The fact of the matter was that sometimes you wouldn't have natural skill in some of the disciplines. Arthur wasn't all that great when it came to Numerology, but he still was very fond of the art.

Identifying symbolic numbers in literature and media was an intriguing pastime that had often made waiting in ship hulls and military bunkers more bearable.

He was planning on tasking Alfred with hunting down "magic" numbers in fairy tales.

Learning was best done when the subject matter was allowed to be as interesting as it was.

Rhys went at it with far too serious of an air. Arthur had taught in a similar manner long ago-rapping a pointer stick against a chalkboard, droning on and on about the significance of this date and that, forcing the child to stand up and recite back what he'd instructed.

Not letting him put what he learned into his own words as he understood them. No...it had to be as Arthur understood them.

Arthur shook his head; still disappointed with himself for teaching that way. It was a mistake Alfred was still paying for with his vehement dislike of geography.

Speaking of geography, Arthur cursed his carelessness for the upteenth time; why hadn't he warned Alfred that the manor was in a forest?

Poor lamb.

As if a train ride from London to Manchester with Rhys as company wasn't enough to contend with, he had to sit back and watch as the chauffeur took them deep into Wykeham Forest.

So soon after being rescued from a remote place in the woods...

Damnation.

A trigger for anxiety, if there ever was one. He swore even now, hours later, he could still feel traces of unease from Alfred.

He'd gladly done what he could to soothe the child over the phone-ignoring his Prime Minister's vaguely uncomfortable expression as he entered Arthur's office at the tail end of the conversation-pointedly looking away as Arthur crooned "I love you's" into the cellphone's mouthpiece.

Then he endured several more tedious discussions regarding his list of emergency numbers. He'd already gone over it twice that morning!

Then he was summoned over to Hallkeeper's Lodge for no other reason than to have him rummage through their Lost Property box because purportedly Alice swore she saw a hat of his in there.

By the time he was trudging back to his office (hatless), he was growling darkly about delays.

At first, he was concerned to find the door unlocked but as he entered…

There...on his desk was a large gift bag.

A nearby note explained that Parliament and the Royal Family had been deeply concerned by Arthur's recent troubles and were glad to see him take a proper holiday.

The thought of being a topic of conversation ( _ **personally**_ rather than economically or politically) mortified him. But as he continued reading…

It took great effort not to go teary. They were all very glad America was well and wished him a swift recovery-hoping he accept this token of their well-wishes.

He eyed the great silver gift bag with its red, white, and blue tissue-a plush bald eagle toy peeked from the left corner.

He'd be sure to have Alfred write them a nice Thank You note. They both would write a nice Thank You note.

He sniffled into his handkerchief.

What with his brothers acting so aloof regarding Alfred's new challenges and their refusal to validate Arthur's genuine concerns on the matter; it was good to know he had _**some**_ support.

He hastily pocketed the handkerchief as his cellphone rang from its charging station.

Poor darling, was he missing Arthur again already?

Without looking at the screen, he answered, "Hello?"

" _Hello, sir."_

"Ah yes! Thank you, Mr. Gray. I take it they've arrived safely?" He'd specifically emailed the man this morning, insisting he call Arthur when they'd arrived and were settled in. He'd had a strong feeling that Rhys wasn't going to text him and let him know when they made it there. He was right. And Rhys was actively ignoring his texts.

" _Yes...howev-"_

"Good, good, good. And how is my Alfred? Minding his manners, I hope?"

" _Well, sir-"_

"O but he's probably chattering away, isn't he? I do hope you'll be gentle with him. Now if he does persist in being underfoot and he's finished his coloring book, I've another for him in my study. Always good to keep him busy if he's in a mood to be a handful-"

" _I don't want you to be alarmed, but there was a-a small incident."_

Arthur's blood went cold.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

" _Nothing serious. He did...faint-"_

Arthur gasped, "Did you fetch a doctor?"

" _Katherine is a certified nurse, sir."_

"That's right. That's...she just finished up though. Maybe, you should phone a hospital though. Just to be safe and-"

" _She's...been a nurse for the past eight years, sir."_

He was too concerned to be properly embarrassed by the light rebuke.

"Right...and she says he's alright?"

" _He's lucid and we've given him some fruit juice."_

"Did she say he was alright?" Arthur pressed. "Dammit. I shouldn't have let Rhys bully me into letting him go. He wasn't ready. He's still recovering! His health is still delicate. I'm on my way."

" _Sir, with all due respect. I don't believe that's necessary. The boy did admit to being rather famished. Low blood sugar is the most likely cause for his-"_

Arthur paced back and forth, "It's also a symptom of PTSD! Did Katherine consider that?"

" _I'll have Katherine ask him more questions. Right now though, he's awake, his blood pressure's normal, and we're bringing him something to eat. We're going to take turns sitting with him until we're certain he's fully revived."_

Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nose and replied more calmly, "Thank you Mr. Gray, for calling me. I do appreciate it."

" _We've set him up in your room for the moment-"_

"Good. That room has a thermostat. Please make him comfortable. I'll arrive in the next five hours. Goodbye."

Arthur shook his head. It was not the result of low blood sugar.

Stubborn little thing. You just couldn't expect him to own up to his own fragility-physically or emotionally. He was far too proud.

He thought again about Alfred's distressed phone call.

 _Dammit boy, you should've just been honest with me, especially if you were having a panic attack._

His feelings of frustration grew-last time he'd been able to sense it. Was there too much distance between them now?

He stiffly collected his items, carefully tucked the gift bag under his arm, and hefted the small potted plant up.

He deposited the plant on Roger's desk to tend in his absence and distractedly waved as coworkers bid him farewell.

 _O Alfred...if you were having reservations...you could've refused. You could've waited and traveled with me. And I could've explained that the land there would do you no harm._

It wouldn't dare risk Arthur's wrath.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : D


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the U.S. Anthem, Rosie the Riveter, Liam Neeson's 'Taken' trilogy, Secret Garden, Alice in Wonderland, Rupert, Disney, Postman Pat, Highlander, Scooby Doo, Alien, Jason, Freddy Krueger, Clangers, Bodger and Badger, Roobarb and Custard, Harry Potter, My Little Pony, or Dr. Phil.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Thanks Incoming Penguins, I'm sure I can nestle that in somewhere. As for a pun war…I'll consider it. There are different kinds of thermometers...and they can go in different places X_X Gratuitous amount of flashbacks. Lots of ellipses. Family drama. Family fluff. Family feels. When you're sleepy, you're often more honest than you like.

 **AN:** Hey everybody, thank you for your reviews-I love reading the intense concern and the awesome reactions! Yup. The holiday is just gonna spiral and everyone can sense it! XD Thank you for holding on! This chap just kept going. XD And without further ado…

 **Chapter 27: Man-eating Eyebrows**

* * *

Alfred fidgeted as Katherine, the Kirkland-Manor-Nurse, took his temperature.

Stupid thermometer was super uncomfortable under his tongue. Still, he'd rather take a thermometer this way versus the...alternative…

It was one of the few times when he was grateful to be seven...cuz right now would've sucked even worse if he'd been four or under.

Maybe he should invest in one of those "No Touch" scanner types for here and home.

He shifted again.

The woman gave him a severe enough frown that he immediately stilled...at least until the thermometer beeped and she plucked it out to study.

Then he went back to fidgeting. He gave an aggravated sigh. Seriously people, he'd been taking care of himself for over two hundred years! He did not need folks helicoptering over him.

He kicked his feet in irritation against the pillow they'd been set on (for elevation).

Yeah, he'd been allowed to sit up a while ago to eat his snack (with more pillows set behind him). And he liked pillows; it was just, he glanced at the mounds heaped around him...overkill.

Her gray eyes narrowed and she frowned as she watched him wriggle.

He crossed his arms and frowned right back except, to his indignation, it made her smirk.

So he frowned harder...and she snickered!?

She set the thermometer down on her tray of doctor-ly paraphernalia which was perched on an uberly ornate bedside table.

Everything in Arthur's room was crazy fancy which was more than a little unnerving. He was certain if he breathed too hard something somewhere that was extremely fragile and expensive would break.

She sat down on a chair beside the king-sized bed. A bed that, honestly, kinda intimidated Alfred with all its magnificence. Dude, some of the tassels on its large bedposts were almost the size of his head!

"Sorry. It's...well, your father makes that face when things don't go as he planned."

He blinked.

"And yet...somehow, on his face it's rather intimidating...but on yours…" she snickered.

Alfred huffed, "Just cuz I don't have man-eating eyebrows-"

Both Katherine and Mr. Gray forcibly cleared their throats and looked away.

"-you're saying I'm not a THREAT!?"

She ignored his outrage and patted his hand, "your temperature is in the normal range and your blood pressure is alright. In the meantime, I think a few more hours of rest would serve you well and-"

"I'm not sick" he whined. "I just had low sugar levels-it's the critical lack of soda, I've been forced to endure. I've had my juice, I ate my snack" he gestured to the empty plate and glass on the nearby dresser "my engine's got fuel and I'm running fine now. I wanna get up. I wanna walk around. We didn't finish our tour" he looked over to Mr. Gray hopefully.

But the woman shook her head in the negative-her short brown hair bouncing with the motion.

Mr. Gray stood beside her and assured, "There's plenty of time for that, you needn't worry over-"

"But-but-but...the whole point of me coming here early was so I could get used to the place. Now you're trying to confine me to bedrest. You're making me feel trapped."

"Did you feel trapped in the hallway?" Katherine asked, pulling a notepad from her pocket and fetching the pen she had tucked behind her ear.

It made his heart sink a little.

 _Osha leaned forward, eyes intent-her earrings jangling with the movement. "You said you felt 'off.' When would you say that feeling first started?"_

"N-no, but…"

"But?"

"I...just got woozy. I'm sorry..." damn it, his voice wobbled.

Which seemed to embarrass them because they both frantically cut in that there was no need to apologize and he didn't have any control over what had happened.

Yeah...that pretty much summed up his problem with his whole situation: He didn't have any control...over anything anymore. And the more everybody went on and on about it, the more embarrassed and upset he felt.

Mr. Gray dismissed Katherine not long afterwards when they got a call that one of the maids had tripped downstairs.

Alfred nodded reluctantly as she promised that she would check on him periodically for the rest of the day.

And then Mr. Gray informed him that he'd told Arthur what had happened...and Arthur was on his way…

He couldn't keep his bottom lip from trembling.

He felt like such a-such a...little….

Canada had him pegged all along!

Cuz he couldn't fight down how relieved he was...that his father was coming.

He was coming!

He had someone coming and how great that felt! Because usually whenever he ran into trouble, he'd had to find a way out of it by himself.

That had been part of the price of freedom: no safety nets, no arms to catch him, no one to welcome him home.

And that stark reality had served him well: allowed him to find the hardest part of his heart to lay on, to hide behind, to depend on...

 _Roanoke curled up as tight as he could on the deer skin pelt Osha had gifted him-trying to convince himself that it was proof she loved him. Because if she hadn't cared at all, she'd have stopped visiting him and he wouldn't have this._

 _And it made the pit he was staying in that little bit more livable._

 _His dwelling was only accessible through the roots of a dying tree. And though the dark, damp, earthy space was far from cheery...it kept him safe from Wendigo who were beginning to hunt him more aggressively. It kept him safe from Yamasee and Cherokee and others who distrusted him. It kept him safe from villagers who were convinced he was a witch._

 _But…_

 _It was so dark...and the soft glow of a few fairies (that were hiding from the wendigo too and spoke in tongues and sounds he didn't know) wasn't enough…_

 _And winter had made the ground so hard and cold…_

 _The pelt wasn't enough…_

 _His pit wasn't enough…_

 _To protect him from how unwanted and lonely he felt…_

 _Water-Father would want him, he told himself. Water-Father just must've not known he was here._

 _So he just needed to walk the shoreline more often-so his father would see him._

 _He twisted his fingers in the pelt._

 _Because Water-Father would love him; he had to._

 _He couldn't be staying away on purpose…?_

Dammit.

He sniffled...and railed against the feelings of weakness with anger.

"Why'd you hafta tell him?" he demanded. "Why'd you hafta-hafta-"

He could've held out! He was America! He could've lasted a measly 24 hours!

Mr. Gray held his gaze, "Because Admiral Kirkland cares about you very much and withholding such information would've done harm to you both."

"But now he's worried!" Alfred snapped. Angry at him, angry at himself, angry for remembering, angry at Arthur for coming, angry at Roanoke for being right. Because it allowed him to be weak. Indulged it. Cultivated it. Otherwise, Alfred could've beaten the softness out of himself like a carpet from dust.

But…

His Dad was coming.

His Dad, who'd worried over Alfred falling down some stairs! Of coming home from his Evaluation with a black eye! Of his uncles treating him nicely! Of Rhys not feeding him enough!

Fainting!? Dude, he probably flipped out!

"Now, Alfred. Let's be honest; we both know he was worried before this. And he'll be worried after this. And so yes, he'll be worried throughout this. Worry is the hallmark of being a parent."

Alfred shook his head.

But he didn't need to be worried.

"...I'm...I'm...the brave one…I'm...the home of the brave..."

All that concern was supposed to be for people who really needed it. Ones who weren't as tough as him.

"...not s'posed to worry about...me…"

He was supposed to be the rock! The anchor! The hero!

"I think we worry about the brave ones the most" Mr. Gray mused thoughtfully. "On account of them being the ones who don't come to us when they're hurt; making us play detective."

Alfred released an angry breath through his nose before arguing, "I know how I look right now, but that doesn't mean I'm some kind of weakling! I'll shake this off. You remember 'Rosie the Riveter' posters? ' _We can do it!'_ **That's** the American way!"

"I do not think you're _'a weakling_ ' as you put it" the man refuted seriously, "On the contrary, I think...you're a strong person who's dealing with something very difficult which is sapping at his strength."

And Alfred knew in that moment, that Arthur had told. He'd told his staff that Alfred had been...captured. It made him feel oddly numb. He knew the other nations had likely found out, but now...even these humans...who were so far removed from his life...knew...

"And I'd say it's even harder being a strong person having to ask for others to lend strength and understanding. Hmm? You don't have to do it often. So there's a lack of practice and this odd belief that asking for help when you need it is some cardinal sin for someone strong. It isn't."

Alfred felt his face get hot, "You don't-"

"Your father told me you how important heroes are to you" the man continued kindly "That you go out of your way to be a hero who helps others in times of trouble."

"So?" he muttered sourly. He was gonna have a rough time living up to that now-that was for sure.

"Do you look down on those people you had to help?"

Alfred gasped in outrage. WTF! That defeated the purpose of being a hero to begin with! "Course not! They needed the hero to swoop in and-"

"Good. And now it's your turn. _**You**_ are in need of a hero."

Blue eyes widened.

...in need of a hero…

The hero...needed a hero…

 _Osha flicked the syringe and he watched the bead of liquid fall-anxiety mounting._

 _He struggled against his restraints, but the world was blurry and swirled as he tossed his head defiantly._

 _She sighed and leaned over-examining him for a good vein to puncture._

 _Whatever she said was lost to the haze of medication in his system-cuz his mind and his body were disconnected. And since his mind was waaaaay up here and his body was waaaay down there-he didn't have ears._

 _And it made everything seem awfully complicated-him being in pieces meant someone would have to gather him up, if all of him was going to escape._

 _Whole thing made him tired...and he just couldn't, couldn't, couldn't...get…away…_

...needed a hero to come get him...

Alfred frowned, chewed his bottom lip, crossed his arms tightly. He fidgeted. Then fidgeted again. He twisted his hands in the bedsheets and finally…

Dammit. He'd make a hypocrite of himself, if he argued the point.

And the truth was...he'd never said he had to be the ONLY hero. It was just...it always seemed like he was the only one who volunteered for it. And nobody really wrestled him for the title.

Alfred felt his throat close up a bit.

….He didn't have to come…

Nobody asked him to…

Al's government didn't. Texas didn't. Hawaii didn't. He couldn't imagine Arthur's Parliament or Royal Family being thrilled with his decision to come over.

Nobody would've expected him to.

Not…after years of estrangement…

Not when it meant charging into total danger and with the possibility of annihilation.

And…yet…

He did…

And he was continuing to come to his...aid...

Even when…

Even when the old man knew damn well he wasn't in any _**real**_ , imminent harm. His stress had just gotten the better of him.

He was coming anyway.

"...do you know...when he's gonna get here?" Alfred couldn't squash the hope and relief in his voice.

Mr. Gray smiled, "He should likely arrive by nine o'clock or so."

Yeah...yeah, he could last that long.

Alfred ran his arm across his face, trying to erase any remnants of distress and asked candidly "So...do you, like, watch _Dr. Phil_ religiously or something? That was very...Dr. Phil-like."

"I raised five children and I have fourteen grandchildren and one great grandson. You'll be hard pressed to find a scenario I haven't encountered in some shape or form."

Alfred sniffed and rubbed an eye, "That kinda sounds like a challenge."

"By all means, let the gauntlet be thrown."

* * *

Alfred huffed and plucked at his pajama onesie.

He needed to make sure Stuart and Mr. Gray never met. Otherwise the former would seek to replicate the skills of the latter and Alfred would find himself outmaneuvered all the time.

Mr. Gray was a shrewd negotiator and tactician.

Alfred demanded more freedom.

Mr. Gray conceded; Alfred could come out for a very modified tour of _that_ floor in _that_ wing IF he agreed to slip into his "jimjams" and robe.

And Alfred had pounced on the offer before realizing he was being manipulated.

He tried to make it as clear as he could that he was NOT the "Colin Creevey" of this story! He was "Alice" dammit! Alice in freakin' Wonderland!

He probably shouldn't have stood on the bed when he declared that.

Still, he was indulged by Mr. Gray, who showed him several more spaces; including Mattie's and Jett's bedrooms, a small janitorial closet, a large restroom with stalls and a bathtub room (while gracefully enduring Alfred's frustration over how Brits couldn't make things easy by just combining them) and then led him to a small octagonal shaped living room with an entertainment system.

He was surprised by its size, since there was no way everybody would be able to fit in here. When he said so, Mr. Gray remarked that it had been recently renovated. Used to be a war room just for the U.K. Brothers.

There were still lots of framed maps and something "stern" about the place.

To his delight, he saw the chair he and Arthur had shopped for.

He did his best to relay the story to Mr. Gray-trying to mimic Arthur's funny comments which was hard cuz Alfred kept cracking up while he delivered them.

It was then that Mr. Gray requested that they postpone their tour since one of his knees was acting up.

Alfred was all too willing to take a break. For all his tough talk, he'd found himself wearing out back with the bathtubs.

He rocked back and forth on the chair-contemplating the large video collection on display in the bookcases stationed on either side of the flat screen televisions.

Apparently, the room didn't have cable yet and soooo it was movie time. Cuz there was no way he was gonna retreat to Arthur's room and surrender to out-and-out bedrest.

Except…

Alfred's eyebrow twitched and he grumbled over the choices.

So many unicorn flicks…

When he commented on the disturbing amount of _My Little Pony_ taking up the shelves, Mr. Gray seemed a bit too amused.

He eyed the selection from top to bottom and realized with horror what was missing.

"Where's the cool stuff?" Alfred whined "I don't see any _Alien_ or _Jason_ or _Freddy_! What the heck are _'Clangers'_?"

"I don't think you'd enjoy that...Intended for very little ones."

"Ugh, why does he have this stuff? For realz. _Postman Pat_? _Bodger and Badger? Roobarb and Custard_? Dang it! These aren't even alphabetized properly! Dude! There's gotta be _Harry Potter_ here somewhere!"

"I think he wanted to have a collection ready should the young prince and princess grace us with a visit or perhaps when he's feeling particularly melanchol-"

"Well, there is some Disney stuff here. So it's not a complete waste of space. But Gawd-"

"Your uncles' video selections have yet to be approved for this area."

"So...is that confirmation that you think _Highlander_ will slip through?"

"Do you want me to answer that or allow you to fantasize?"

"...Let the bubble of hope float please."

"Very well."

They decided on a marathon of _Scooby Doo,_ which worked out pretty good. The staff even let him eat dinner in there and snacks! And Katherine's checkups weren't quite as annoying when he got to munch on peanut butter covered celery. They didn't even mind Americat coming in there to hang out.

Alas, even with a steady supply of food and juice, the hero's stamina still dwindled as the hours passed.

He blinked drowsily as the credits song began and staggered over to the couch with Americat in his arms. After two failed attempts to get on, a pair of strong weathered hands helped pull him up.

"There you go, young Master Alfred."

"Rhys and I didn't have tea" he blurted.

"Would you like a cup?"

"No...tea's nasty" Alfred made a face.

"Ah."

"But we were s'posed to have tea together" Alfred murmured-leaning against the human.

"I fear Brigadier Kirkland is recovering as well."

"Huh?"

"Been suffering a migraine almost all day. Poor fellow."

"Or...he just doesn't like me…and he needed an excus-"

"I'm sure that isn't the case" Mr. Gray replied.

Alfred bit his lip and curled up-facing the television screen.

"But Dad'll be here soon, right?"

"Of course. He gave his word."

A hand rested on his shoulder, comfortingly.

He blinked.

A beach episode….

He blinked…

"I remember this one…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah…seaweed...beard...captain..."

"Oho?"

"Didja know...we used to go to...the beach a lot…?"

"Did you now?"

"...make seaweed crowns and...pretend we were off to...attend Neptune's ball...but..had to quest for a suitable gift…"

"...and what treasures did you find?"

He mumbled something nonsensical as he was overtaken by a memory.

 _He raced along the dock-delight in his breast as the gangway touched down._

 _The cries of his nursemaid chasing after him were easy to ignore._

 _He was supposed to wait until father disembarked, because they didn't want a repeat of last time; where he'd collided with men carrying goods off the ship and it all fell into the water._

 _But it had been over a year! Over a year since they'd been together! Surely, Father wouldn't mind? Surely, he'd missed his Alfred?_

 _He raced up the plank, deaf to the shouts of dismay and spotted his father by the wheel talking to men in powdered wigs and embroidered coats._

 _With a cheerful shriek, he launched himself towards the man._

 _Startled, Arthur turned around and..._

* * *

Northern Ireland played with the car's door handle. He'd been staying with Scotland the last few days trying to help his brother sort out his house before the holiday.

Jaysus! The fae had left the place in terrible shape. He'd spent a whole day just shifting through ripped book pages-making piles here and there of what belonged to what.

And then Scotland admitted while they were scrubbing the kitchen down, because for some reason the fae had felt it necessary to drag a waterhorse through there. Whole place smelled terribly fishy and the poor thing (Reilley just had a soft spot for animals dammit! Even the dangerous ones!) had needed immediate attention. Got dehydrated when the fae lost interest in it and stopped wetting it down.

They'd driven it to a loch and Scot kept assuring him that it'd be fine but…

Anyways, Alistair had admitted as he wrung out his sponge that he was worried about the holiday. That Alfred would be the weight that broke the scale and pandemonium would result. Which was a bit harsh in Reilley's estimation. So far the only "wrongdoing" he was guilty of at present was arriving a few days early. An innocent mistake. The runes attested to that. And if Arthur hadn't been bothered he couldn't for the life of him understand why Alistair and Rhys were dead set on getting their knickers in a twist over it.

Locked.

Unlocked.

Locked.

Unlocked.

"I'm gonna kill you, if you cannae knock it off" Alistair growled-holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

"O really?" Northern Ireland raised a bushy eyebrow.

His brother nodded grimly, "All the way out here...secluded...no one would have to know."

"Which is why ya won't do it. Yeh love an audience. Always tryin' to get people to sit down and listen to your God awful bagpiping."

"...I'm a brilliant piper."

"Keep tellin' yerself that, Scottie boy."

By the time the sun set and Reilley was bored out of his skull. Alistair was still sulking over the bagpipe comment. And he hadn't taken the car to the shop to have its radio fixed, so there was no music or anything. Reilley's only comfort was that they were just cooped up in a car and it'd soon be over. Unlike their sailing days, when they'd had to share cramped quarters for months at a time as they made their way to New Zealand.

"All this silence is gettin' ta me. We coulda taken a taxi or had the chauffeur come and fetch us and had music or-"

Alistair scoffed, "I have to preserve the illusion that I could leave at any time I want."

"Oh?"

"That if it goes real bad. I got my keys. I could go. It's the only way I'll keep myself from goin' mad."

"Speaking of madness…" Reilley peered into the side mirror "Is that? Is that Arthur's car?"

"Wha?"

"Coming up from behind us…" his interest turned to alarm "Coming up fast! Scot, Scot! Move!"

Reilley desperately gripped the wheel and steered them half way off the road. As the vehicle bumped and bucked, both redheads stared as Arthur's car passed by them-so damn close that -coulda reached out and touched the other Vauxhall.

Their jaws gaped as Arthur gave them a dismissive one handed wave of acknowledgement without taking his eyes off the road to look at them.

He then tore off ahead of them-engine roaring.

"What?"

"Wha?"

"Wot?"

"Fuck?"

"I know, right?"

"Wha's that numpty doin'? Coulda murdered us!"

"I thought we'd be free of him til tomorrow" Reilley murmured as Alistair eased the car back onto the road and then put his foot down on the accelerator.

"Scottie! Scot? Alis? Alistair? Deartháir mór? Don't wanna die! Slow down! Ahh. Slow, slow, ahhh."

But it was no use.

Alistair's brows were furrowed and he leaned forward-muttering darkly about stupid, ungrateful, idiotic, mad younger brothers who opened Pandora boxes without any care at all.

Reilley began hysterically praying as he watched the speedometer needle reach frightening heights.

This was probably the reason why they let Alistair lead charges from the front line. His need for revenge just completely overwhelmed rational thought.

The tires screeched as they pulled up before the estate-just narrowly missing the bumper of Arthur's car. They'd arrived just in time to see Arthur jogging from his car and throwing his keys to a bewildered footman.

"Oh no yeh don't" Alistair growled yanking his keys from the ignition and tossing them into Reilley's lap. He then abandoned their vehicle to sprint after their younger brother.

After making his apologies to the footman and handing him another set of keys, Reilley entered the entryway to find his brothers at the foot of the grand staircase.

Alistair had Arthur in a headlock and Arthur had a good grip on Alistair's hair (the Scotsman's eyes were watering).

Oh my. Not even five minutes in and the Kirkland brothers were already at one another's throats...not that any of the staff seemed particularly bothered with it though.

Damn.

Sad, really; they were all desensitized to the violence now.

Mrs. Sutton approached, not batting an eye, at the two brothers who were cursing each other in Scottish Gaelic.

"Major Kirkland" the elder woman greeted as she came to stand beside him.

"Evenin' Mrs. Sutton" Reilley acknowledge "Where's Mr. Gray?"

"Well, we had a bit of an incident earlier, sir. He's upstairs with young Master Alfred."

"How is he?" Arthur choked out-apparently eavesdropping on their conversation despite being preoccupied.

"He appears to be doing well" she raised her voice to be better heard "Recovered his appetite and his wits. Katherine will look in on him again in the morning, if you'd like, sir."

Alistair abruptly let go-causing Arthur to drop to the floor, "What's this?"

"He fainted" the woman explained "We're hoping it was just a dietary result, but considering the traumatic experience he endured for the latter part of the year-"

"Wow. You just...told everyone, didn't cha?" Reilley murmured while Alistair stared.

Arthur was usually so uptight; for him to just air his laundry like that...

"I didn't want anyone making careless jokes or comments where kidnapping or Stockholm's was the punchline!" Arthur snapped as he stood up. He straightened his vest "which is why I'd like someone to go through the drawing room's video collection and weed out any of those Liam Neeson _'Taken'_ videos. In fact any plot with abduction...if we could just...remove them for the time being-I'd be very grateful."

"Arthur…" Alistair mumbled.

"I don't need anyone upsetting him! He has quite enough to contend with as it is, without someone aggravating it with a stupid DVD choice!"

As he started up the steps, Mrs. Sutton called "They're in the old War Room, sir."

He hesitated on the landing, and then chose the right flight of stairs rather than the left, "Er...right...er...Thank you. Er, and yes and good evening."

"We'll have your things brought up, then?"

He faltered, "Er yes...I…"

"Shall I inform Brigadier Kirkland of your arriv-"

"O blast it all, get up there and tend your sprog" Alistair groused "I'll deal with the rest. Yes, take me to the ol' crusty, cantankerous dragon. Can't believe he left poor Gray up there all on his own…"

Reilley winced. Well...he wanted no part of that...that was likely to turn very...unpleasant.

And so...to the lesser of two evils.

He gingerly followed behind Arthur...from a healthy distance.

As Arthur disappeared within the "War Room" and Reilley suppressed an onslaught of bad memories he heard:

"Good evening sir, so glad you arrived safely, I'd stand...but..."

"No no no" Arthur replied. "No need."

As Reilley approached the door, he saw the reason: Alfred was asleep on the butler's lap cuddling the furry behemoth that was Americat.

Arthur all but collapsed beside them on the couch, "But you got him to eat?"

"Yes sir, he seems to be quite a fan of Toad in the Hole with gravy."

"Good. Very good. There were no other troubles?"

"Well, he's far from impressed with your video selection here."

"Hmph."

"But we made do with _Scooby Doo_ and he seems interested in _Rupert_. That one was next in the queue before he nodded off."

Arthur nodded and reached over to push the fringe out of the child's face.

"Thank you...for watching over him."

"No thanks necessary. I'm just glad the little fellow is feeling better. Gave us all quite a fright."

"It's my fault" Arthur muttered. "I never should've let Rhys bully me into separating us. Poor little mite. It was too much to demand of him so soon."

Reilley quietly slipped into the room just as Alfred awoke. Or seemed to.

The child sat up with a somewhat vexed expression.

A hush descended as they all watched-waiting for some sort of reaction.

Tears? Anger? Embarrassment?

He flopped himself backwards this time into Arthur's lap and curled back up. Americat took that as an opportunity to commandeer the empty rocking chair for himself.

Arthur released a soft chuckle and carded his fingers through the golden hair.

"Have you eaten, sir?"

"No...I...I couldn't find the time...not when I knew he needed me-"

"I'll have something brought up then."

"Thank you...just...thank you."

The man stood up, gave a brisk nod, and blinked as he noticed Reilley.

"Major" he greeted and repeated his offer of a late dinner.

"Yes. Thank you, Scot and I didn't have a chance to eat either. More traffic than we'd expected."

He felt Arthur's hard stare on the back of his head as the butler left.

"Aye?" he asked bluntly as he turned around.

"Why did you follow me?" Arthur hissed.

Reilley raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Easy now. I wanted to make sure Alfie boy was alright."

"He is. Now off with you."

"Do not think for one moment, you can just dismiss me and-"

"Keep your voice down-"

"I have every right to be in here and-"

"-keep it down-"

Alfred blinked and gave a mighty frown.

Oops.

The child squirmed.

"You weren't happy to see me" he pouted at his father-voice slow and thick from sleep.

"Wot?"

"...didn't hug me hello…"

"O! What a travesty! Let me correct that at once" Arthur crooned-cuddling the child close.

Reilley nearly gagged at the way his brother oozed affection.

But Alfred wasn't to be pleased so easily.

"...mean to me" he grumbled. "...in front of the whole crew…"

"Hmm? Oh goodness. Dearheart, are you holding a grudge?"

"...scolded me…for rushing up the gangway and...had to wait until...meeting...over...stupid wigs...scolded me...wouldn't let me wear your hat either…"

"I certainly did scold you" Arthur agreed without the slightest hint of remorse. "Do you remember why?"

"...last time…" the child frowned.

"And what happened last time, pet?"

"I knocked goods over."

"Yes, you did. And you nearly fell in yourself! I caught you by a foot! January water. Would've froze to death or drowned, you silly careless thing."

Alfred glowered-eyes slitting, cheeks puffing, complexion turning red.

Reilley winced at the sight.

Arthur, however, was not put off in the slightest by the unattractive expression marring the youngest Kirkland's visage.

"O what a face!" His brother chuckled. "Good thing that I love it no matter how it contorts itself."

Arthur kissed his cheek and a reluctant smile was coaxed out of the sleepy boy. At least for a moment and then the child remembered he was discontent and frowned again.

"A whole year" he mumbled-twisting his fingers in Arthur's sweater "Mint said you must've forgot about me. Took a drought and forgot all about me."

"Wot?"

"I said…" the little eyelids drooped "I said...you wouldn't forget and I'd prove it. You'd be glad to see me...but you weren't. And for a moment, I thought you _**had**_ forgot me...like she said...you didn't even... _smile_ …"

Arthur's cheer diminished and he remarked solemnly, "I could never forget you. I'm sorry Mint played such a cruel trick. I could never forget you, poppet. Never."

"...scolded me…"

Arthur released an exasperated breath, "Yes. I did. And I also carried you all the way home. Do you remember that?"

"No" the child replied sullenly.

"Of course you don't. I suppose you've forgotten that it was that night I gave you your very own copy of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ , hmm? Nasty, uncaring ogre that I am?" He ruffled the golden hair gently.

"You...did…?" Alfred's expression faltered with uncertainty.

Reilley's stomach flopped and Arthur's mouth formed a grim line. They'd staggered right into one of Alfred's memory gaps.

"...I have trouble remembering some things…sometimes..." the child confessed as Arthur pet his hair soothingly, "...I have that book still. Even if I can't remember when you gave it...I have it...Know it was you...your note…"

Reilley once again found himself commending Arthur for his acting skills. His brother forced a smile, "Would you say you're starting to remember more?"

The child nodded.

"Well, I think that's wonderful news. Your magic must be responsible. The more magic you replenish, the more you'll heal, and the more you'll remember. So you needn't worry over-"

"...it's just the sad stuff though…"

"What's that now?"

"I'm just...remembering sad stuff…mostly..."

Arthur swallowed and continued brightly, "Well, that's no good. How about this? You tell me the sad things. And I'll tell you the happy things, until you can remember those happy things for yourself. And in the meanwhile, we'll just need to content ourselves with making some new happy memories. How does that sound, Sweet?"

Alfred gave him a sleepy smile and a lethargic nod.

"Good. It's all set then. Now, I seem to recall giving you a 'hello hug' but I don't seem to have received mine. Must be lost in the post or someth-"

"Hey!" Alfred tugged on Arthur's sweater vest "I worked for the Post Office. Don't down us-"

"Did you now?"

"Pony Express."

"Well Postman Alfred, be that as it may" he sucked a breath through his teeth for dramatic effect "I do fear I'll have to file a complaint if my hug can't be located and-oomf!"

The child practically flung himself at Arthur-little arms twining around the man's neck. Arthur held him back every bit as tightly.

It made Reilley's heart twinge painfully.

He tried to catch his brother's eye but Arthur wouldn't look his way and when the blond man sniffled and the child inquired after it-the Briton blamed it on mold and dust.

Reilley took a deep breath. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to-to-to-Dia damnaigh sé!

* * *

Read & Review Please! : D


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Scottish horror film: _Lord of Tears._

 **Warning:** More profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Some inappropriate joking about alcohol and medicine being mixed. Pagan rituals. Light references to the phenomena of spelling evolution: when ya get conquered, your spelling/name changes. British slang for snot. In which Rhys reveals a soft, gushy spot for his little brother. Alistair has issues. Unfortunate jokes made at the expense of the Welsh. Amateur Welsh and Scottish Gaelic. Americans and their culture of time efficiency/instant gratification/do-it-yourself-if-ya-want-it-done-right and how it can clash with others' cultural values and expectations...leading to various...difficulties. Fluff. Feels. And nobody's perfect. And since quite a few of you seemed concerned: away in Spain, Antonio is making a scrapbook of Tex's first Christmas visit.

 **AN:** Hey all, thanks for being patient! I've really enjoyed reading your comments! This week has been a doozy! But I know you've been waiting and so here I am updating at an unGodly hour. Hope you enjoy! XD

 **Chap 28: Baby-Block-Basics**

* * *

"Madainn Mhath!" Scotland declared as he forced the double doors of his brother's bedroom open. "Wakey, wakey!"

"Haliwr" was the hissed response from the pitch black room.

Alistair leaned against the doorjamb so if Rhys wanted to look at him he'd have to contend with the brightly lit hallway behind him.

As his eyes adjusted, Alistair noticed his brother pull a pillow onto his face.

" _ **This**_ is why nobody wanted you to play babysitter" Scotland announced-several decibels louder than strictly necessary-smirking when his brother groaned in anguish. " _ **You**_ just dump them off whenever they get fussy."

"I did no such thing" was the muffled answer "I introduced him to the staff. I didn't plan on getting a migraine. I thought...if I could just get...more...sleep...maybe…" Lethargy tinged his brother's voice and it sounded suspiciously like he was falling back asleep.

"Oh no yeh don't" Alistair marched over to the bed and pulled the pillow away.

Rhys winced and threw his arm over his face.

Alistair glowered. Rhys didn't budge. The Scotsman sighed, walked back over to the door and shut it.

"Diolch."

Alistair huffed and crossed his arms as he came back over.

Rhys shifted to make room and Alistair reluctantly sat beside him.

He'd intended to give Rhys an earful but his brother looked awfully pathetic.

"He fainted" Scotland murmured.

"Who fainted?" Rhys inquired curiously.

"W-who? Alfred!" Scotland spat.

"What?!" Rhys barked-sounding alarmed and throwing the blankets off himself and making to get up.

Alistair clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder and shoved him back down.

"Dammit. You did that _thing_ , didn't you? Where you ordered that no one is allowed to disturb you for any reason...Didn't you?"

"..."

"Rhys…" Alistair ran a hand through his red hair in exasperation. "You can't... _do_ that. Not when you're…it's half past nine."

"Cach."

"Yeah, so...no gold stars fer you today."

"I...I'll apologize in the morning and I'll be sure to explain to the staff that...under those sort of circumstances…I...cach..."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair again. Great. Now Wales was embarrassed. It was going to be even harder to get him out of the room now.

"Have you taken anything fer it?"

"For…?"

"For the migraine?"

"...thought if...I could just...sleep a bit...haven't been sleeping so well...as of late...I…"

Alistair leaned back against the headboard, "If I make you some tea, will you humor me and take some medicine?"

"..."

Rhys usually preferred going the herbal route or taking nothing at all and _'letting the body heal itself on its own terms.'_

But they didn't have time for that.

"Trust me. You're gonna need your strength back and fast. The staff called Artie and he came runnin' like hell hounds were snapping at his heels."

Rhys groaned, "...all going arseways…"

"Don't I know it?" Alistair growled.

"I'm...worried about them. They're...getting too close. It's dangerous. I don't even want to imagine the sort of side effects it could produce."

"Look, Mr. Gray's been watching Al all day. On top of his other responsibilities…" Alistair growled-the man had enough to worry about without adding their hyperactive nephew to the equation.

"Well...I suppose that went well at least."

"Eh?"

"I wanted him to make an impression on the staff on his own without any of us coloring their interactions. Is Mr. Gray fond of him? I thought he might become so if given a chance...always took great interest in Arthur's collection of paintings with Alfred."

Scotland shrugged, "I dunno. I came straight here."

"Ah. To harass me?" Alistair frowned at the note of amusement now present in Rhys's voice.

"Aye."

"...you're still worried…?"

"...my tarots are still fallin' much as they were. And where do ya get off saying 'still'? The hell were you thinking, charging after Yamasee anyways? You….shoulda consulted with me first."

Rhys sighed "You were rather preoccupied with tea at the time."

"Well, ya shouldn't ta just left me! All enchanted and shit! Yeh just...just left us! All o' us... didn't even leave a note or-or-You always just-just-"

"...you're still upset…" Rhys confirmed.

"Have I gotten my apology?"

"..."

"Yeah...yeah...then yes. I am. And I'll continue to be. Dammit man! Yeh never let me in on your plans and you go and do 'em and I'm left in the lurch and yeh wonder why I'm spitting angry!"

He turned away and glowered at the wall where-where-Alistair's face flushed-where he could just make out a huge stupid tapestry he'd made for his brother during the 1300s.

Stupid misshapen dragon…

Stupid Wales...for keeping it...

A hand settled on his shoulder-he tried to buck it off, but it had a good grip and pulled him backwards.

The arm then draped loosely over him.

"I wanted to prepare Alfred" Rhys confessed. "I...planned on leaving him to his own devices for an hour or two. Just so he'd know he wasn't going to be the center of attention. Nor should he expect to be. There will be times when he has to entertain himself-"

"Tha's true but...outright ignoring him...I think he had a lot of alone time...ya know, being captured and all."

Rhys released a sharp breath and then sighed, "I botched it."

"Yes, you did" Alistair agreed-satisfied that even if it wasn't quite the apology he wanted, it was some variation of acknowledgment. "But I think I know what you're aiming at. You've noticed it too. Arthur...he's...he's different with him."

"If he continues on this way, not only will it increase the possibility of a psychic backlash when they come to disagree on things. But...there's the matter of the other children uniting against him. They'll feel Albion's favoring him and I...can't disagree."

"Then learn to lie, Rhys. Reilley does it all the time; everyone's a special snowflake and all that shit-"

"Dair…"

"Who cares if they know it ain't so? We'll just all go through the motions and-"

"Al-"

"Fact of the matter is...there's always gonna be one that gets it the easiest and one that gets it the hardest. Tha's jus' the way it goes."

For them, it was obvious who'd had it easiest...back then…

But it was a toss up over who had it the hardest:

 _Cymru...Valentia...Gwalia...all the names were becoming interchangeable to Alba and it was confusing because Rhys answered to them all._

 _Every time Rhys reappeared from battle, he seemed to have a new name tacked on. When Alba confessed his own confusion over the matter-because dammit he didn't know what to call him-Rhys had just smiled and ruffled his hair as he answered "Brawd mahr."_

 _And maybe if he hadn't answered that way, maybe Alba wouldn't have begged him to stay._

 _Wouldn't have wasted his breath and his tears._

 _Rhys still went and all his responsibilities were divvied up between Eire and himself._

 _Which was pathetic._

 _They were pathetic._

 _Two small, skinny whelps who couldn't string Rhys's bow to save their lives...having to play the role of provider-hoping that the birds and fish and berries and nuts they could find would be enough. Because several villagers had stolen their hens and Mother wouldn't let them steal them back! Enough to wait out the Romans. To wait for Mum to recover because she was almost as good a hunter as Rhys and if she could just get well, they'd have deer and boar again._

 _But Mum's health continued to deteriorate. She started resting all the time in their roundhouse or under the crann bethadh at the center of the village, playing with Albion and letting all of her tasks fall onto them as well._

 _And it was frustrating as hell to a seven year old and an eight year old._

Scotland stared blankly at the ceiling.

God...they really were that young...weren't they? And Wales...Christ...he was what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Just a kid himself.

It looked an awful lot like she was just showering her affection on little Albion and saying 'to hell with the rest of her boys.'

It never crossed their minds-that she knew her time was ending. That she needed to make as positive an impression on Albion as she could-because her time with him would be cut even shorter than the rest. That she needed Eire and Alba to learn how to take care of themselves as best they could before she died...so they wouldn't panic when it happened.

He wouldn't figure that out for a long time though.

No. Back then, it seemed an awful lot like she was just being lazy and mean and wouldn't get off her arse to come help them.

Almost got themselves killed by a wild boar twice.

And the two of them grew steadily frustrated as Mum grew more demanding.

" _We cannae stay" Eire insisted in a hushed voice-holding the ladder steady as Alba climbed up. "Alba...we cannae stay. We-"_

" _Eire…" Alba murmured-inspecting the hole in their roundhouse's roof._

" _Aye?"_

" _Do yeh think ye can hunt fer yerself?"_

 _Eire blinked-chewing at his bottom lip as thought it over, "...beavers and...fish…yeah..."_

 _Alba nodded, heart heavy, "Then go. Hide with the trolls fer winter. Make friends with 'em. Be smilin' and cheery and tell 'em yer a fisherman and a dancer. A good 'un. They'll like yeh fer it. I'll meet yeh there in Spring."_

 _His brother stared and wordlessly handed over reeds._

" _Yeh should go, Eire. I mean it. Now. While they're away in the meadow. I'll say I dunno where yeh've gone."_

" _..._ _ **we**_ _…"_

" _I cannae go...not yet."_

" _...they'll work yeh to the bone Alasdair...if yeh...stay..."_

" _Go. Go now. Grab a spear and net. Take me knife. The white one."_

" _But…you…"_

" _Rhys left me his. I'll use that."_

And so Reilley took his chances in the wilderness, Mum's spirits plummeted with the absence of a second child, and everything fell on Alistair-thatching the roof, tending the garden, shearing the sheep, treating what sickened, disheartened villagers remained.

And when winter came and their cow died...and he couldn't catch any game...and the crops sickened and Albion cried because he was hungry…

And Alba just...honestly, he shouldn't have freaked out on Albion to 'shut his stupid, starving mouth' but…he couldn't keep the storm inside himself any more than he could halt the blizzard that was on its way.

And damn her too for starting in on him for it-hissing that if he had enough energy to quarrel, he had enough to go back out and hunt some more.

So he did. Go back out. And he didn't come back. And wouldn't until Rhys-

He blinked, as a hand nestled in his hair, "Albion would have gotten more responsibilities from her when he aged. And...I...I wanted to be there Alba, I-"

The Scotsman's face flushed. The bastard! Damn Empaths! Eavesdropping on feelings and memories!

"I did not give yeh permission to jus' rummage through-"

"...you're projecting and I...Alba…"

"Yeh...yeh stupid, jerkarse"

"She felt terrible Dair-"

"Sheep-shagg-"

"Alba!"

"Bastard!"

"ALBA!" he scolded "I know Yule is always difficult for y-"

Alistair shoved the arm off and left-taking care to leave the door open and let the piercing light filter in.

* * *

Arthur yawned and stretched. What a trying night.

It had been difficult balancing a sleepy Alfred on his lap while he tried to nibble at bangers and mash.

Reilley finished his plate in half the time and then kept pestering Arthur to take Alfred off his hands.

That damned glint in his eyes.

Arthur had seen it too many times over the years. Whatever it was he wanted; he intended to have it-come hell or high water.

There was a picture in Reilley's flat of Reilley and Alfred dancing on a table in a pub during the 1920s. Hmph. Prohibition likely. He felt his eyebrow twitch-knowing Alfred's true age-the idea of his uncles plying him with alcohol left him feeling very rankled.

That damned glint...

The one time Arthur did set Alfred down to make use of the loo, he returned to find Reilley with Alfred and Americat in Arthur's brand new rocking chair.

Opportunistic wanker!

By the time he managed to dethrone him and take his rightful seat there-Alfred was all cuddled out and had entered "deadweight sleep."

And then a moody Alistair had appeared.

He'd remarked that the "crusty dragon" was indeed sleeping off a migraine and he'd passed two workers hauling in all of Arthur's "crap." Couldn't he have packed more lightly?

Arthur DID pack lightly! Git!

Scotland then demanded to put in the movie: 'Lord of Tears,' which Northern Ireland had cheerfully seconded.

Naturally, England objected-wildly gesturing to the child in his lap. Just imagine if America woke up in the middle of that!? He'd read the back cover for it-a haunted Gothic estate? Oh yes, let's just make the poor lamb as uneasy as we can in this foreign place. Righto! While we're at it, let's introduce him to Pagan traditions with no sympathy for his upbringing. Find some white bulls and we'll perform the Druid Ritual of Oak and Mistletoe. Because that won't give him horrid nightmares or terrible flashbacks of Salem witchcraft and Puritan minister's depictions of hellfire. Idiots!

When he tried to voice his concerns, Scotland just asked for the bedroom Alfred had claimed as his and offered to drop him off.

Just thinking about it made his eyebrows twitch.

There, Arthur had been, sitting all comfortable in his rocking chair; Alfred in his arms, all curled up and adorable with the sweetest, most peaceful expression on his little face...and they just wanted to...ruin it.

Even now with a good night's sleep-Arthur couldn't quell his annoyance.

They ignored Arthur's demands for them to watch it in the drawing room. He'd had no choice but to gather his child up in his arms and exit the room.

" _Aw come on Albion, watch it with us. It'll grow some more hair for your scraggly chest" Alistair sneered._

 _Arthur glowered "I'm sufficiently hairy, thank you."_

" _Ya know what those scientists are sayin' bout the youngest bein' the most effeminate of the line…?"_

 _Arthur scoffed, "So by that logic, Rhys is the manliest of us all?"_

 _Reilley snorted, pointed at Arthur and gave an approving nod while delivering a hard elbow to Alistair's side._

 _Yes. As the second youngest, Reilley hadn't appreciated that jibe either._

 _Satisfied, Arthur turned on his heel and exited-though not before overhearing:_

" _He got you Alis" Reilley rang out in an annoying sing-song voice "He got yeh goo-ood."_

" _Aw shut it! Yeh leprechaun! 'Fore I make yeh pay gold though your nose!"_

Wankers.

The lot of them.

He sighed and reached for his child and-

The spot was warm but there was no one-

There!

That sound!

That was what had woken him. He blinked. There it was again.

A rustling sound of…?

He rolled over to see Alfred kneeling beside the bed the contents of the silver bag strewn all around him.

He had the bald eagle toy perched on his shoulder like a bizarre sort of parrot as he inspected what appeared to be several board games, a puzzle, a book of poems, and a brightly colored pinwheel sporting red, white, and blue.

Alfred blew at the toy and smiled as it spun in response.

When he finally registered Arthur's gaze on him, a guilty blush reddened his features.

"The tag on the handle said it was for me. And it's not wrapped like a Christmas gift…."

"Parliament and the Royal Family put that together for you."

"Wow! Tell 'em thanks for-"

"You'll tell them yourself with a proper _Thank You_ note, young man."

Alfred frowned.

Stubborn little thing hated being told what to do, but Arthur would not allow the child to reward such kindness with rudeness.

Alfred reached up and pet the soft toy, "...kay."

Arthur smiled approvingly, "Tell me when you want to write it, and you can use my writing station."

He gestured to his very handsomely made Captain's Davenport desk in the corner.

The child nodded distractedly as he took the eagle toy into both hands to inspect it-spreading its wings experimentally.

"Have you thought of what to name him?" Arthur inquired, resting his head on his hand as he watched the child contemplate his toy.

"My eagle?"

Arthur nodded-patiently waiting for 'Soaring Freedom' or 'Liberty Wings' or 'Spangled Glory' or whatever his son's patriotic little brain cooked up.

And so it came as a surprise that the new toy was: Pilot.

Fitting...if a bit conservative.

Though...considering the rabbit's name was...Hop...Pilot suited the toy well.

Nostalgia took a firm hold of Arthur as he watched Alfred crawl onto the bed with both stuffed animals-reminding him of long ago mornings when his bed had often been the first place the child rushed off to (sometimes dragging a drowsy Mathieu behind him). As if Arthur wouldn't have discovered it was morning, without Alfred cheerfully informing him it was so (while sitting on his chest).

He sighed; most of his wards had grown up under a stricter regime-the nannies and governesses and doctors of the era stressed their need for order and independence. And considering how thoroughly he'd mishandled Alfred's need for the latter, he bowed to their demands...and missed out on a lot of these precious moments.

By the time Arthur ruled that _he_ knew best and would do as he wished, most of his wards were long since grown. And Sealand had never been particularly fond of him (not that he really blamed the lad) while Wy had always preferred Australia.

This was nice...this feeling...of being wanted and welcome. He'd missed this.

He reached over and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Alfred's ear.

As the little one arranged and rearranged his toys on a pillow, Alfred mumbled, "I'm sorry you felt you had to rush over."

Arthur blinked.

Alfred didn't look at him and continued petting the soft toys with his fingers-twisting Hop's ear and Pilot's wing, "That had to be really irritating. You probably had-"

"Of course not. I'm-"

"I was fine. Everybody just made a big deal out of it."

Arthur arched an eyebrow-fainting was NOT a natural occurrence...still Alfred was embarrassed and trying to save face.

"I should've warned you, the manor would be so far out in the woods. That must've been a nasty shock."

Alfred paused, "Huh?"

Arthur rested a hand on the child's head-combing his fingers lightly through the messy hair.

"I can't imagine you're terribly fond of woods right now...considering...everything that's happened."

Alfred frowned in thoughtful concentration before his eyebrows shot up, "Oh."

He turned to face Arthur, "Your trees don't bother me."

"...no? Then...what do you suppose made you uneasy? Was it Rhys? Or...what were you thinking about before…?"

Alfred shrugged, "I don't really know. Can't really remember. It's like...a bad feeling...from...so long ago I...it doesn't matter. I'm sorry I freaked everybody out."

Alfred bit his bottom lip-eyebrows furrowing-angry with himself.

Arthur cupped the child's face gently, "What sort of bad feeling is it?"

The child stared at him flatly, "Does it matter?"

"Yes. It does, Sweet. Anything you remember could help us narrow down what it is that's bothering you. It must be important if your mind won't let you forget."

"But it won't let me!"

"I don't understand popp-"

"I told you! It's because of the bad feeling. I can't remember more. Because of that!" the child argued-tone elevating with frustration.

Arthur pet his hair soothingly, "Sounds very frightening."

There was a miserable nod and he leaned into Arthur's hand.

"Yeah. It's like the bad feeling is just...sitting there in the hallway. And it won't let me get further."

Arthur frowned. Perhaps, a repressed memory of some kind?

"Is it malevolent?"

"Huh?"

"The feeling. Is it sinister?"

Could he be suffering a hex? Or some kind of mental charm? Had Osha done something? Or was Alfred inadvertently responsible for it himself? Forcing down memories of his captivity?

"...no," he rested his head on Arthur's chest.

"It doesn't want to be scary. It just knows it has to be. To keep me away."

Arthur wrapped both arms around him, "Do you suppose-"

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore" Alfred muttered-pressing his face into Arthur's neck.

"...when you _**do**_ want to talk. I'm here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know" the child nodded-blue eyes catching his.

Relief seeped in at how quickly, how sincerely the child responded. A far cry from how he'd reacted at Thanksgiving; hesitant, reclusive, mistrustful. Yes, they still had a long way to go-but they'd already come quite a ways.

"Good," he kissed the boy's forehead.

* * *

"Scottie boy relaaaaax" Reilley ordered from his spot under the tree. Breakfast and lunch had been a rather tense affair with a stressed Alistair, an embarrassed Rhys, and an irate Arthur.

Honestly, right now it seemed like Reilley was the only one lacking in emotional baggage. Kinda made him feel left out.

He was half-tempted to make up something that would "offend" him-like maybe the color yellow or pudding or standing lamps or something.

As far as he was concerned, the only one with a legitimate reason to be upset was Alfred; He'd been captured, held hostage, nearly eaten by _hideous_ monsters (several times over), forcibly reduced in age, and had to survive off England's cooking for the past few weeks.

Poor soul. And he was being a good sport!

His brothers, on the other hand, needed to get over themselves. Otherwise, they might be facing another Yule like the one in 1854. That one was depressing. Damn Crimean War.

The good news was Alfred had accepted Rhys's apology easily enough, but he audibly gulped at Alistair's hard stare. The interaction only resulted in Arthur becoming even more protective and following each meal-he whisked Alfred away from the rest of them.

Which apparently unsettled Rhys and Alistair, though Reilley couldn't for the life of him get why.

Even though he'd like to say Alfred crossed the Atlantic to visit with his favorite uncle and learn important things like: how to be a better boxer and how to be popular with ladies…

He knew the little lad had mainly come to spend time with his father. And...that's what Arthur invited him for too. Family bonding was...the point.

"I _**am**_ relaxed" was Alistair's hissed response.

Reilley rolled his eyes. O aye, _**that**_ was convincing.

Alistair was obsessing over his tarots-grumbling louder to himself with each reading he did.

"Alistaaaaaair."

He was ruining the tranquility of the garden.

"Shut it."

Ah...family bonding at its finest.

"Al-"

"Go away. Yer like gum I stepped in millenia ago and I just can't scrape you off and-"

"Don't know what it is" Rhys muttered as he walked over and plopped himself down between them.

"..."

"..."

Reilley and Alistair shared a look:...those...sunglasses...

Both redheads stared.

Rhys brought out a small fan and unfolded it, "Perhaps it's the weather, but I'm just feeling surprisingly sensitive-Maybe I shoudn't firesend so early in the morning-didn't have much choice though. Arthur was being rather impossible and I had to do what I could to make up for yester-what? What is it?"

"Ya kept 'em" Northern Ireland noted in surprise. He'd given those sunglasses to Wales back in the 1970s.

"Ya really shouldn't've" Scotland muttered flatly.

Rhys frowned.

"I think, maybe Alistair needs a Valium" Reilley announced in a loud whisper. "Maybe some whiskey. Maybe both together."

Alistair gave Reilley a kick, the younger redhead immediately retaliated.

It steadily escalated until Reilley had a firm hold of Alistair's nose and his brother was gripping both of Reilley's ears-slowly twisting them backwards.

"That's really quite enough" Rhys huffed "Eire, please?"

"Why do I gotta be the one to relinquish first?"

"Cuz yer Irish" Alistair answered in a nasally voice.

"What'd you say?"

"-bogtrotter-"

"You plaid skirt sportin' pri-"

"Now" Rhys ordered.

Reilley released and then Alistair followed suit.

Reilley crossed his arms "Dunno why we gotta cater to Scot being mopey and-"

"You do not have any room to talk" Rhys drawled.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. I have sat through enough renditions of you reading tragic poetry and singing sad ballads that if we lined them up...it would be several lifetimes...at least. And that's not even getting into all the complaints, I've fielded from you over the years" Rhys asserted. "Scotland's only a nuisance at this time of the year. Whereas you know no boun-"

Reilley flushed and opened his mouth to argue when-

"Well done Sweetling!"

All three brothers twitched at the sugary tone.

Reilley stood up, brushed his trousers of grass, and casually climbed the lattice affixed to against the garden wall. Eager for something to distract him from his anger. He was not a whinging brat, thank you.

Once he made it to the top, he peered into what he deemed 'The Rose Pit': an area so swamped with roses that their female wards had often (in their younger years) staged various fantastical plays and make-believe adventures there.

Fun for them...torture for him and Alistair as they were often relegated to the role of troll, dragon, warlock or...mud monster that existed for the sole purpose of being thwarted...via kicked shins and firm whacks by ribboned wands.

He spied England and America sitting on a blanket with a spellbook lying open. The boy moved off, past the grass, and over to a patch of dirt.

The boy drew a downward facing triangle with the heel of his foot. He then raked a line across the bottom pointing corner.

Earth symbol.

The boy then cheerfully jumped inside the design.

It immediately responded by flashing bright blue and all around them rose blossoms bloomed.

"Well done!" England gushed with a round of applause. "Well done, indeed."

Alfred beamed.

Reilley stared.

Really?

Reeeeaaally?

Ugh.

Arthur was wasting Alfred's time with this baby stuff.

Alfred had managed a fortitude spell and an aging spell-he could accomplish far greater things than _this._

Poor Alfie boy needed him. That was certain.

Rhys was a bore of a teacher.

Arthur was a pushover.

And Alistair's lesson plans were always forged in hell. You could work your bollocks off and still get failing marks from him.

Reilley's eyebrows shot up curiously as the child picked up a lump of dirt in his hands. It glowed briefly and then a handful of daffodils sprang out like a bouquet. With a grin and a flourish, he skipped back over to the blanket and presented it to Arthur.

Arthur clapped a hand to his heart and then swiped out his other arm to pull Alfred into his lap which elicited giggles. He made a dramatic show of smelling and admiring the bouquet which encouraged more laughter.

Reilley watched as buds beside him on the lattice began opening. One clematis blossom opened right beside his hand and-

Reilley blinked.

Boys a dear!

He felt him!

So _that_ was Alfie's magic signature!

Like a wee, bitty butterfly-the presence was so light and airy and bubbly.

He glanced back down to see Arthur reclining on the blanket-staring up contentedly at the blue sky overhead. Alfred sat beside him flipping through the pages of the spellbook pausing here and there to ask questions about the pictures like a little child who hadn't yet learned to read-oh.

Right.

He probably couldn't read any of their books.

Damn.

Dammit.

They really were starting off with Baby-Block-Basics, weren't they?

Well, fuck, he was going to have to rewrite his lessons and dumb them down a bit.

Arthur reached up and gently pet the child's hair. Alfred set the book down and curled up close to Arthur. He raised both hands at the sky-clapped them together and smiled when a few blue sparkles resulted.

He nudged Arthur and motioned for him to do the same. Arthur indulged him and a few aqua colored sparkles showered over the two of them.

Which just...delighted Alfred.

Reilley observed it all with interest: the simple lesson, the easy going pace, the...almost gratuitous amount of affection.

It was essentially magical preschool and it was so goddamn adorable-Reilley jumped back down and made a face, "Ugh. I'm either going to gag or start a group hug."

Scotland visibly shuddered.

With a wicked grin, Reilley opened his arms, "C'mere Alis."

"No."

"C'mon now."

"I will cut you!"

* * *

Alfred swung his feet as he stared at the tray full of sweets. Apparently this whole Afternoon Tea ritual that Rhys introduced him to, was here to stay, but if it meant he could get eclairs and pastries and cookies everyday...he could warm up to the idea.

Arthur told him that they'd be spending a lot of time in the drawing room for tea and for entertaining.

Rhys explained that the room was spacious enough to accommodate everyone for the holiday.

It was like Rhys was trying to shove down his throat, that Alfred wasn't going to be the only guest.

Yeah. Okay already. Geez.

"Ouch" Reilley hissed as Alfred's foot connected with his shin.

"Sorry."

Reilley nodded and continued his boring conversation about soccer as Arthur poured tea for Rhys.

Boring.

"Ouch!"

His foot struck again.

Alistair glared.

"S-sorry."

What the heck was wrong with him? Uncle Alistair kept flipflopping. One minute he was scary and mean and the next he'd be back to being his cool uncle. Right now...he was in scary mode. Not as bad as he'd been that one day but...

"Please don't kick your legs, Sweet" Arthur murmured "We all need to sit nicely and-Mr. Gray?"

The elder man entered the room with a silver platter carrying what appeared to be-

Alfred grinned and looked over at Rhys who gave him a nod.

Hell yeah!

"Hot chocolate for young Master Alfred" the man announced setting the chocolate pot and its cup and saucer near the teapot.

"Ah yes, thank you Mr. Gray" Arthur acknowledged.

"Thanks!" Alfred echoed as he cheerfully started to reach for-

"Either Arthur or myself will pour it for you in a moment" Rhys announced.

Alfred retracted his hand as he slowly realized everyone was watching him with a pained expression. Mr. Gray gave him a sympathetic smile before he was flagged by another worker to come speak in the hallway.

Arthur patiently explained, "When we have tea, the host (preferably) and if there's a great number of guests" Arthur gestured to Rhys "an assistant, will pour the beverages, dear."

Alfred frowned and stared longingly at the chocolate pot and then back to Arthur who was now pouring tea for Alistair.

One small eternity later, he was finally slurping some hot chocolate. Well...warm chocolate was more like it.

Afternoon tea was hella inefficient in his humble bumpkin opinion.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Why can't we turn the TV on?"

It was boring too. He'd had butter-churning afternoons that were more epic.

Alistair shook his head while Reilley gave a sheepish smile.

"Well dear, it's a time for conversation."

"What if there's nothing interesting to say?"

"That is a vital part of the art of conversing" Rhys declared "To find something of interest to relay. The other part is to listen respectfully. And the final part is to maintain one's manners while-"

Alfred mulled most of that over and then blurted, "At the train station yesterday, I saw a guy with-with-with all these piercings all over his face. It was like he was attacked by a rabid stapler!"

"Alfred that's not very nice-I'm sure he was just...expressing himself" Arthur argued.

"I remember wondering if I held a metal detector wand to his face-"

"Alfred!" Both Rhys and Arthur looked scandalized.

" _ **He**_ said converse about something interesting!"

"Dearheart," Arthur scolded-resting a hand on Alfred's and lowering it "we do not point."

Rhys sighed, "Preferably one chooses a topic that will stimulate the mind rather than liquefy it with its inane sense of reason-"

"Aaaand now you've had the greatest lesson of all, Alfie boy" Reilley announced as he put jam on his scone "Nothing _really_ interesting is allowed at tea time. Because it's all about being refined and polite and boring. So you'll just do as Alistair and I do. And we'll sit here, and we'll eat our scones and use enough clotted cream to make them stare and make snide comments about us because for some strange sad reason they've nothing better to do, and then we'll leave. And once we've left, we can have real conversations again. Interesting ones. How does that sound, boyo?"

"Kay!"

"Reilley…" Arthur frowned.

"Aye?"

"..."

"Hey Uncle Reilley?"

"Yeah?"

"When we go laser tagging, do you wanna be on my team?"

"Laser tagging?"

"Yeah, Arthur told me everybody gets to pick a thing for us all to do. And...I wanna do laser tag."

Rhys frowned, "Perhaps...you should reconsider...something a bit more…in line with what the others-"

"Ack, lay off him" Alistair muttered taking a vicious bite out of pastry. "He's the last request on the list, right?"

Rhys nodded.

"Good. We'll all be wound up tight by then. Shooting each other could be cathartic."

"Maybe we should just put Scottie on his own team" Reilley offered "Let him work through his issues with violence-his favorite method."

Alfred glanced at Arthur, who was pulling out his cellphone and frowning at its screen, "What are the other things we're doing? Has everybody else already chosen?"

"One moment, pet."

Alfred fidgeted in his seat and leaned over, "Whatchu look-"

Arthur gave him the "in a minute finger," as he held up the phone in his other hand to listen to voicemail.

Alfred's cheeks puffed and he reached for the hand scolding him-tugging and twisting the iron ring on Arthur's pinky finger.

"We do not paw at people" Rhys chided.

"We do not nitpick everything either" Reilley retorted.

Rhys frowned "There's a certain level of decorum that's to be expected. Naturally, Alfred doesn't wish to disgrace himself at the ball. Do you, Alfred?"

"...uh...no?"

Rhys nodded, "Of course not. Which is why this week will be very instructive-"

Alfred and Reilley shared a grimace at the word: instructive. It pretty much sounded synonymous with... _hellish._

"-in a polite society, it's necessary for one to be aware-"

Alfred cracked his knuckles under the table and opened his mouth to inform Rhys that if he really was half as worried about upholding manners and decorum as he said he was, than he ought to know that introducing someone with a hyphenated blend of their disowned surname and their current last name without checking with them first...was hella rude and presumptuous.

Unfortunately, before Alfred could put the smackdown on him-Mr. Gray had entered the room at power-walking speed and seemed rather pale.

Arthur stood up-hand pulling abruptly away from Alfred's grasp, "They _**are**_ here then?"

"Yes sir, it seems...it seems...they're pulling into the driveway as we speak."

"What's that now?"

"Wha?"

Rhys popped something that looked suspiciously like an antacid.

England breathed out through his nose, "I see."

"Sirs" Mr. Gray nodded solemnly at the U.K. brothers "The rest of your company has arrived a day early."

All four Kirklands went silent.

"Wow! That must be, like, a ton of luggage!" Alfred waved his arms for emphasis "Do you guys need help? Cuz I'm actually pretty good at unloading stuff. I've been a longshoreman and a bellboy before!"

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or House Hunters the TV series.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. MORE stereotypes. MORE OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Butchering slang from Australia aaand Jamaica in one chap. : D Family Draaaaama. Snobbery. Cricket. Some fluff. Some feels. Some flashbacks.

 **AN:** Please continue to leave reviews to feed me. One magical day the site will be fixed and I'll be able to savor them more thoroughly. Right now, I just have to snack on the stats numbers. But I don't want to leave you guys in suspense so...here ya go! : D

 **Chapter 29: Lord Of The Swing Set**

* * *

America watched through the gap of the balustrades as England continued mingling with the rest of his guests.

Hugs.

Handshakes.

A few hair ruffles.

For the ladies (even Wy), Arthur gave a slight bow and a kiss to the back of their hands and smiled.

Yeah, Alfred had been getting hugs and cuddles lately, but...he remembered a time when...

 _Alfred felt his heart soar._

 _There._

 _Dressed in a formal suit with stockings for Court._

 _His father._

 _It felt good to think of him that way again._

 _For a while, he'd had to think of himself as a country only; with no family, no ties or connections or weaknesses. Like Osha dictated; to be a proper nation he'd had to halt everything._

 _Like the part of him known as Alfred F. Kirkland was a book. A book held in the grasp of an entity known as America and it could be set down whenever his land and his people were in dire need._

 _But the war was over. He could resume where he'd left off. At last._

 _And terrible as the whole ordeal was; he actually felt it was better this way. Felt he understood both his guardians better._

 _How difficult it was being a nation._

 _How hard it must've been for Arthur trying to raise his colonies while dealing with his king and Parliament. For Osha when her tribe was warning her to be weary of Alfred's desires to separate from Great Britain..._

 _Good God, Alfred's own limited experiences proved it was trying._

 _Exhausting._

 _And rather frightening if one was honest. They cared about him, but in an abstract way. While George and Alex and John and Ben were warm to him, others...while professional and...respectful of him...were...were..._

 _They couldn't quite understand him and because of that...they couldn't quite…_

 _God, it was lonely._

 _He hurried over-arms raising._

 _Father would know what to do._

 _He'd dealt with such things for ages! Likely the answer would be so simple the older nation would chuckle at Alfred's inability to grasp it for himself._

 _And Father would be glad to see that Alfred wasn't so proud after all. Yes, he wanted to be independent. But he could use advice. Especially from someone he'd always admir-_

" _What are you doing?!" the man barked._

 _Alfred faltered, nearly tripping on the expensive rug beneath his feet._

" _I…" thought the war was over._

 _That tone though..._

" _Goodness Alfred, pretend to have some sense of decorum."_

 _He glanced around at human faces he didn't recognize who all seemed less than impressed with the American nation before them._

 _He blinked confusedly._

 _Arthur sighed and motioned with his eyes where Alfred was supposed to be standing in the hall before Parliament._

 _Right. Right. Right._

 _He pulled out several wadded up notes from his government that he'd read and reread on the voyage over. Difficult because the motion of the ship made him sick and reading...made it worse._

 _Still, he'd managed._

 _Unfortunately, it had resulted in the notes looking rather…worn._

 _And if he hadn't been embarrassed now-realizing that he should've copied them over onto fine, fresh paper-the scoffing noise Arthur made…_

 _The one that was usually reserved for France..._

 _Decorum._

 _Alfred needed...to develop a sense of decorum..._

 _See?_

 _Knowledgeable._

 _See?_

 _Good advice._

 _He needed decorum._

Alfred took a shuddery breath and shook his head. Wow, that was when he was still a fresh-faced newbie.

He took a harsh gulp of air-he'd obsessed over that; buying books on etiquette and fashion and-and-

Until he'd learned to appreciate the chagrined look on England's face whenever America did something unforgivably "common."

Alfred's lack of decorum (sometimes blatant, sometimes unintentional) became a subtle form of rebellion.

And it was good...getting to vent that way...perhaps it was a bit spiteful, but ultimately harmless, and it kept Alfred's resentment from transforming into something darker.

Because the old man's rules and his need to micromanage everything turned every visit to the U.K. into a prison sentence.

Whenever he was with Arthur, he was caged.

Alfred blinked and held a hand to his forehead. His face had gotten all hot and everything.

Whoa.

He took a deep breath.

Wow. Bitter much, Al?

Geez.

He looked back out at Arthur. Arthur, who'd driven all the way here yesterday-which was...big. Because England usually complained when something was just an hour away. And he'd often gripe about how you couldn't just walk to the grocery store in America-no, you had to drive.

Arthur, who still had a 'harassed' look about him, skinny and tired and who, according to Tex, looked waaaay better than he did during most of Alfred's absence.

And Alfred remembered being carefully tucked in last night-having a warm arm settle over him and having his forehead kissed goodnight.

And...didn't Arthur promise something?

Yeah...yeah, he did!

" _You tell me the sad things. And I'll tell you the happy things, until you can remember those happy things for yourself. And in the meanwhile, we'll just need to content ourselves with making some new happy memories. How does that sound, Sweet?"_

A lump formed in his throat and he immediately felt really bad. Was that the sad, sort of thing he was supposed to share? He wasn't sure he could do it.

Especially when...they were just starting to get along. He didn't want to be the Debbie Downer. Didn't want to be the jerk that made Arthur feel bad when all he wanted was a winter holiday with his family.

Alfred rested his warm forehead against the cool stone and stared out.

They'd come over on a plush rented bus and nobody wanted Alfred's help unloading their stuff. Apparently, several of his airlines had sullied his reputation and he'd gotten several wry comments that they really needed their luggage to be transported from point A to point B-so they'd let the manor's estate handle it.

Sweden had come over with Sealand and apparently would be leaving for the airport the next morning via taxi.

The stern way he kept glancing at Sealand and the overly polite mild mannered way the kid had greeted America (like they'd had no issues at all) suggested that Sweden had made it clear that he had to toe the line or he'd be coming straight home. Clearly, this was a test run for the micronation.

Apart from giving and receiving mandatory hello's from everybody and being unwelcome to transport materials, Alfred steadily felt more and more superfluous.

Alistair and Rhys were busy talking to Jamaica.

Reilley was talking to...ugh...Barbados…

New Zealand and Seychelles were making trips back and forth helping Wy carry her art supplies in.

And Alfred just...slowly retracted from the scene.

"G'day there Alfred!" Jet greeted from halfway up the steps-a canvas backpack slung over one shoulder.

Dude, he thought he was well-hidden?!

"Hey Jet" Alfred forced a grin.

"Good to see ya" He knelt down beside Alfred "Glad all's goin' well. Gave us all a fright, y'know?"

Alfred bit his lip and glanced back out to where England was standing next to a great stone fountain-smiling warmly as he conversed with Hong Kong.

"Aha," Jet breathed beside him in an "awed" tone "Behold the Pommie in his natural snobby habitat."

Alfred giggled.

Arthur walked to the side, dabbed at his eyes, and discreetly fished out a handkerchief to blow his nose.

"Beauuuuutiful. Majestic, really."

Alfred couldn't help the loud squeal of laughter that escaped him which seemed to startle Arthur who glanced all around for the source of noise.

"Shhhh. Careful now. can become skittish and charge-"

Alfred smiled, "Missed ya Jet."

Jet clapped him on the shoulder, "Missed you too, mate. Now what...or _**who**_...are you hidin' from?"

"Oh-uh-um...I was...that is...that...well..."

"Mate?"

"It's difficult because...this particular….quarry can...turn friggin' invisible...and…"

"Good God!" Arthur exclaimed.

Alfred immediately turned to look and- "Eep!"

"...yeah…" Jet sighed and sucked a breath between his teeth.

Well…

There Mattie was.

Quarry found.

And from the look of it was recovering from a broken nose…which had resulted in two black eyes…

Nice Tex…

Real nice...cuz that's gonna make things between all of them go smoother...

"Now" Australia slung an arm around America to draw him close. He lowered his voice. "Jamaica and I...have a bet goin.' I say, he's a tough bloke and he's gonna heal up alright, 'fore it's picture time. She says they're gonna have to do touch ups for him and they'll manage to get his eye color wrong. So? Want in?"

* * *

Arthur stretched a crick out of his neck and poured himself a small glass of port as he relished a few moments to himself in his bedroom's retreat space. Once again pleased that he'd had the foresight to build the addition a few decades ago.

Alfred had assumed that morning that its closed door led to a formal office and not quite willing to relinquish the privacy of the space-Arthur allowed the misconception to stay unchallenged.

He needed an uncontested area for himself and...he really didn't want to risk the teasing Alfred might subject him to over the highly nautical theme.

It was fashioned to resemble a Captain's Quarters from a 1700s Ship of the Line. Even had the windows put in at a slant.

Though...it had been fitted with more than a few modern conveniences; a telephone, a computer, several different styles of steering wheels from later periods hung on the walls alongside framed maps.

One wall had a bit of fishing net hung creatively with shells adorning it here and there. There were decorative jars filled with sand and shells.

A few years ago, he'd had a porthole window installed-even though the place already had enough windows. It was just…

Blast…

He just had a soft spot for the sea dammit!

He downed his glass and approached the large expanse of windows-smiling fondly at the scene unfolding on the landscape below.

The pond sparkled and Arthur felt a pull towards it. He might take a cool dip one of these days. Maybe row Alfred out and put on a little demonstration. While it was a bit too cold for the child to enjoy a swim, he wouldn't mind being splashed just a bit. He certainly enjoyed water rides at amusement parks. And he'd been getting increasingly more interested in Arthur's magical abilities.

Not to mention it would be a good opportunity to show Alfred how to offer a gift to magical creatures. They had an Asrai living quite happily down there. She was rather fond of moon stones, so Arthur made a habit of sending one down now and then. While she naturally wouldn't show herself during daytime, it could be for the best. Arthur wanted to ease Alfred into the realm of magic and seeing a pale web-handed little girl might make him uncomfortable.

Though…

Compared to wendigo...perhaps…

Maybe he'd just ask Alfred whether he wanted to see her. He couldn't imagine her being anything but sweet to his child-though he'd need to make it clear to Alfred that, for his own sake, she shouldn't be touched. Especially as Alfred didn't like the cold.

His eyes strayed to the lawn where his wards had gathered and were playing a modified game of cricket since they didn't have enough people. Again he felt a bit of melancholy, that more of his former colonies couldn't have made the trip. It would've been good to have a full house again. At least he'd see quite a few at the ball.

Yes, it was...a surprise that they'd all come so soon, but...well…

He took a sip.

They'd all arrived safely which was the most important thing. So Arthur and his brothers would just need to adjust the schedule a bit. And it felt good to see them in person: healthy and fit. Meant the lot of them were eating and exercising and sleeping alright. And God, that felt good. Only Alfred was underweight and sleep deprived. So it'd just be him that Arthur had to cluck over in that regard.

He took another sip.

He was surprised that Canada was involved in the game-given his injury. And if he felt he must play, he really ought to be wearing a face-guard...just in case. Arthur had already texted Spain his outrage since his attempts to shame Tex had resulted in a completely unrepentant text back of: _Gosh ur funny XD_

He frowned. Poor Mathieu. Yes, he was still bit upset with him but...he didn't deserve that. Texans. So violent. Hopefully, Rhys could make a salve that would help speed along Mathieu's healing.

In spite of himself, he came nearer to the window; the match was starting to get heated. Who knew that Wy of all people had such skill?

Unfortunately, America chose that moment to become interested-wandering nearer and nearer to the wicket. Which naturally worried England-the boy could get hit!

And while he was glad his son was ushered away from the line of fire...

He couldn't help the sharp sting that shot through his heart-watching the other children shoo him from their game rather than use it as an opportunity to include and instruct him.

He set his glass on the tray and decided to make his way back down.

* * *

Canada blinked as Australia, with a rather uncharacteristic scowl, quit their game. And while that evened the odds a little bit (because having Australia and Wy on the same team made them a nightmare to deal with) without Jet wise-cracking, it was...rather less enjoyable.

He gripped his bat, as he guarded the wicket-trying not to get distracted by the fact that Jett had gone over to play with Alfred on a pair of swings that the staff had put up.

They'd stopped putting them up a few years back, when Wy and Sealand had declared themselves too grown up and mature. He idly wondered how long that would last with them seeing Alfred become the new "Lord of the Swing Set."

Alfred and Jet were currently having a "Superman" contest; each lying on their stomachs and swinging with their arms straight out.

"Ack! Mattie get yo' head in da game!" Jamaica shouted.

He couldn't. And the game ended soon after that, when it became clear that Wy was getting bored, Sealand was becoming a poor sport, and Barbados had lost interest entirely-choosing to play with her phone in the field. (Honestly, considering her outfit, they'd been surprised she'd played at all.)

Canada hesitantly approached the swings. He...didn't want the holiday to be ruined because he and Alfred were at odds with one another...because...Mathieu was...jealous. And he'd seen firsthand how upset it had made England. And _felt_ how upset it made Texas. He gently prodded his tender nose-careful not to dislodge the splint.

He wished he could say he was over it-that Tex's visit had knocked the feelings out of him but…

At least...he felt able to own up to it.

And even if he...wasn't quite ready for a heart to heart with Alfred…

 _Italy told me Al bawled his eyes out._

That was what Tex's note had said and while Mathieu supposed he had been aiming to embarrass his brother to vent his own frustration. His stomach flopped a bit at succeeding so thoroughly.

He needed to apologize for that. He _could_ apologize for that. Even if he wasn't at the point where he could apologize for being jealous in the first place.

But Al...wasn't cooperating and seemed to be actively avoiding him. Which added yet more challenge to the process of mending their relationship.

He knew what being ignored or forgotten by his brother felt like but...avoided...

He'd tried sidling up beside him twice, but Alfred kept finding reasons to abruptly leave.

Mathieu watched the Australian play with his little brother.

Jet made it seem so easy.

"No! You have to do it right!" Alfred declared "Like how I do it-did it."

"And how do you do it right?"

"Ya gotta lift me as high as you can."

"Like this?"

"Higher!"

"Like...this?"

"No, higher!" Alfred demanded kicking his feet in agitation.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh, like THIS?"

"Yeah! Yeah, just like that!"

"I think I get the gist of it now."

"Good. And now, like a shuttle. Ya have to make it shake a little bit."

"Like this?"

"YUP! And ya gotta go: _T minus 10...9….8...7_ -"

" _6...5...4...3...2...1.."_

"BLAST OFF!" they cheered.

Jet abruptly released him and shot forward to avoid being kicked as Alfred swung down fast.

Maybe…

Maybe Canada ought to try…?

He could do that, couldn't he? Push a swing?

Jet grabbed the chains of the swing as it slowed down, "Again?"

"Again!" Alfred cheered.

"Alright then, here we-"

"NO!" A loud disapproving British voice cut in "Nonononono. No."

Both Jet and Alfred glanced at each other and then at Arthur with puppy dog eyes.

"No. That's far too dangerous."

There was a chorus of "Awwwwwww's."

"Daaaaaaaaad" Alfred whined.

"No."

"We're just playin'!" Jet offered innocently.

"The answer remains...No."

Mathieu missed his chance and Arthur commandeered the situation-gently pushing Alfred on the swing as the latter commented, "Wow. It's so...anticlimactic."

Australia sat beside him on the other swing and grinned, "and a bit unfair."

Australia caught Canada's eye and smirked, "Wha? Artie, ya ain't gonna give me, your little brother from Down Under, a push?"

Canada bristled a little bit-yes, he was talking to England...but Australia was _poking_ at _**him**_.

It was becoming steadily more noticeable since their...conversation on the bus.

 _Jet shook his head, "Can you believe Barbados? Getting us all to crash early? Berwald is pissed off that she rescheduled at the last minute, but there was no way he was gonna let Sealand show up last. Little fella's been rather down. Dunno if you noticed but…"_

 _England had never been particularly doting when it came to the Sea Fort and Canada felt a surge of compassion for him. Maybe he could pick up a few stocking stuffers for him for Christmas? Something good to make him feel special._

" _Anyways...ya wanna join the Alliance or no?"_

" _The-the what?"_

" _Now. We're not lettin' the anklebiters in" he waved a hand to where Sealand and Wy were playing with handheld videogame consoles. "Cuz they're little and they shouldn't be worryin' over this. But Jamaica, New Zealand, and I are on Team U.S.A. Gotta message from Texas askin' if we could look out for Al..."_

" _You...talk with Texas?"_

 _His brother hadn't let him know about this._

 _Jet scratched his nose, "Oh yeah. Friends on Facebook now. We both put up a lot of food pictures...and-Oh!_ _ **He**_ _thinks he can last in the Outback. Ha! I've invited him to come down any time of the year. Test his mettle. Anyway, are ya in?"_

" _Quoi?"_

" _Cuz Livvie gotta badmind when it comes to Alfie" Pippa muttered, turning around in her seat and leaning over to talk to them "Ya think she's gonna leave the past in the past, but no."_

 _The woman rolled her dark eyes and ran a hand over her bob of tight spiral curls._

" _She starts in on him. Ooh. Gonna make me vex, mon."_

 _Mathieu fidgeted, "Olivia…just knows how Alfred can monopolize Arthur's attention. Look Jet, you weren't really there then but...Pip...you remember? ...when we'd all come to the castle and...he'd raid Arthur's closet...Dragging his Naval coat anywhere he liked and he never got in trouble the way we did when we..."_

 _The two stared at him._

" _O-kay then…" the Australian looked away._

 _Jamaica turned back around, "Jett-talk sense to him. I can't. I-just-no-"_

" _Er...I know you and he-sometimes but...and that Yanks can be...Yanks...but this ain't some off-the-street-Seppo. It's Alfie. Our Alfie. And...he didn't just, ya know fall off the horse, he got...pitched. Probably some kind of World Record. And if Arthur needs to carry him around in a basket for a while...it's not...well I guess it's not a perfect metaphor. Work with me Matt. I just...I don't really see what it has to do with us."_

 _Mathieu bit his lip, "..."_

 _Jet frowned, "Cuz ya know...we're adults...Y' know?"_

" _I dunno why we're even botherin' with an initiation" Jamaica grumbled._

 _Canada sighed; because Barbados had pretty much pitched a fit that it was a tradition. And to suddenly end it on account of America…_

 _Plus, Wy and Sealand had both balked at the possibility._

" _Why does he get to go Scot-Free?" Peter hissed-trying to make sure Berwald didn't overhear them:"I had to spend the midnight hour in the crypt there!"_

" _I had to eat one of Arthur's scones dry-no jam, no cream, and no drink!" Wy argued._

Canada sighed; he wasn't sure what task Barbados had thought up for his brother-but whatever it was...Scotland and Northern Ireland had already approved it. Olivia had been quick to point that out.

Canada frowned at Australia who looked away and hollered,"Oi! Jakey! Uphold Trans-Tasman relations and be a good mate and come push me!"

* * *

Alfred blinked. WTF.

He knew he shouldn't have followed Barbados when she said she had a _**special**_ surprise for him.

But Arthur had seemed so delighted when the woman swooped in and had been all smiles. And when Barbados smiled-with her pearly teeth and her pretty eyelashes-it was hard to believe she didn't really like you.

Arthur had melted like butter for her request to show Alfred a bedroom she thought would suit him: _"Go on, Loves. Just be swift, dinner will be ready soon."_

And so...here they were.

She released his hand and stepped into the room with a twirl that showed off her teal dress.

She had sparkly, jeweled hair barrettes that contrasted nicely against her dark hair and kept catching Alfred's eye.

It all made her look like a shining beacon of cleanliness in the dark, grimy room.

"What do you think? Spacious isn't it?"

"...yeah."

"I see in your _House Hunters_ show-space is always important."

"...mmhmm."

"And if you sleep here-you'll even get to stay in Arthur's wing. You'll just be one floor down. Isn't that nice?"

He could deal with the fact that she'd brought him to a storage room.

He could even deal with the fact that she'd already brought his luggage and a stack of blankets in without receiving his a-okay.

What he couldn't deal with...was...all the creepy ass white sheets covering everything.

The room was crowded with half-forgotten antiques; furniture, chandeliers, super freaky gargoyle statues, and mannequins...mannequins with sheets covering them.

All that stuff resulted in a no.

The gargoyles were a NO.

The mannequins…by themselves...resulted in a HELL NOOOO!

Which meant all of these details combined equalled a 'not in this lifetime lady!'

She rested a dark skinned, well manicured hand on one of the covers hiding a mannequin-like it was nothing disturbing in the least.

Thanks, but no thanks. He did not sign up for Manor House Terror. Nope. That could wait until October. This was Christmas time: holly jolly happy nice time. With no creepiness. None. And he'd stick his fingers in his ears and hum loudly if anyone dared to talk about Krampus.

He opened his mouth to politely, but firmly, reject the offer because he wouldn't mind one bit crashing another night with Arthur if _**this**_ was the alternative, only-

"We'll get it all fixed up tomorrow" she promised with an apologetic expression "See that in the corner? It's a really handsome antique bedbox. I think you'll like it. I just need Uncle Alistair's help putting it back together for you. He seems to be...in a bit of a mood. So I thought we'd ask him tomorrow. I think there's a cot in here somewhere to tide you over for the night. Otherwise I'll vouch for that loveseat tucked beside that old vanity set-it really is comfortable."

"...I…"

"And we can clear out most of this into Rhys's storage room tomorrow. His has plenty of space for it. I just thought...you'd want to be close to Arthur, right? And all of the rooms nearest his are taken."

He chewed his bottom lip.

Yeah, moving stuff around would easily make it more bearable but...why couldn't they do all that first? And _**then**_ let him come down here?

He was about to say just that when he noticed she wasn't looking at him at all.

She walked over to a dusty window, unlatched it, and forced it open, "Bit of fresh air will make it less stuffy."

"I...I appreciate...the offer...but…."

He swallowed; looking around at furniture pieces with creepy carved faces and armoires that had bronze fashioned hands keeping their doors closed. And that one in the corner, he could've sworn it was closed a second ago.

He could explain it to Arthur. Arthur would understand. Arthur would let him spend one more night...and spare him from...this.

"Arthur looks so tired" Olivia remarked "I think we ought to ask the servants to let him sleep in tomorrow. What do you say? I think we can keep ourselves entertained for one morning?"

Guilt seeped in because Alfred knew damn well why Arthur looked exhausted. Why he'd stayed exhausted despite their wendigo fiasco wrapping up in November.

It was cuz Alfred just couldn't quite pull himself together.

He scuffed his foot along the floor-making a design in the dust.

Surely, the hero could last one night in a creepy room, right?

For Arthur's sake...

* * *

Arthur frowned and adjusted his hold on the child sitting in his lap.

Yes, they were watching a rather odious art documentary to indulge Wy and Alfred would've much preferred a loud, flashy action movie. Arthur might've preferred it too. American movies were fun to cut his teeth on with critiques. Even Alfred would join in on occasion with a surprisingly witty comment now and then.

Still, the lad couldn't always have it his way.

Yet, Arthur couldn't bring himself to scold him because it didn't seem like Alfred was pouting.

Instead, he just seemed rather...subdued.

Perhaps, the snickers he'd received at dinner had bothered him.

Honestly, Arthur had thought he'd done rather well save the occasional screech of his silverware on the plate.

Yes. It'd be quite some time before Arthur would deem him well versed in such etiquette.

But really chuckling over how Alfred cut up all his meat at the start rather than piece by piece or the way he picked up and set down utensils (which admittedly did confuse a few staff workers at first) wasn't that amusing.

And it wasn't Alfred's fault he couldn't tell the difference between all the spoons. Arthur hadn't had a chance to instruct him yet. The others had years of practice.

And it was rich seeing Jett and Jake smile at each over it. At least Alfred kept all of his clothes on for the duration of the meal! He caught their eyes and they must've read his well-because both blushed and looked down.

Yes; glares on Arthur's part had quieted most of it.

He thought the boy did well; Alfred chewed with his mouth closed. He didn't speak while eating. He didn't spill anything. Didn't interrupt anyone. And didn't slurp his soup-meaning he'd taken Arthur's instruction back in November to heart.

Arthur was very proud of him. And if the others thought a good teasing was in order, let them beware. Arthur had _loads_ of mealtime faux paus from _each_ of them in their early years, that he would be _happy_ to share.

When they'd filed into the Drawing Room for some time with the telly before they went to bed, Arthur realized that they'd need to have a few more poufs and chairs brought in.

As his wards continued to grow older, and bigger, and (in some cases) demand more personal space (Hong Kong had pretty much claimed an entire loveseat for himself), Arthur realized he'd need to continue expanding his Drawing Rooms to accommodate them. Maybe he could add onto the far wall and extend the room by a few more feet?

Alfred's cheeks had puffed petulantly when he realized that running off to grab his special coloring book meant he was the last one to enter the room and therefore had missed out on prime seating.

Arthur had remedied the situation by sharing his own seat and Alfred had shared with him the exercises he'd completed.

Thankfully, Arthur already had a few more coloring books waiting in the wings. Alfred was speeding right through.

He might have Reilley (who was getting steadily more enthusiastic about the idea of tutoring Alfred in Magic) brainstorm some more puzzles and crafts for Alfred to do between lessons. Apparently, his Irish brother finally had the epiphany that Alfred was a child and needed magic lessons geared for a child. They needed to be short, simple, fun, and creative. Arthur thought that much was obvious, but…

Alas, his brothers were morons.

So...he'd definitely need to review whatever they wanted to teach his son.

It was a quarter to ten when Australia coaxed a sleepy Wy, who was getting steadily more waspish, to turn in.

Sweden and Sealand quickly followed suit.

And England began the long overture of trying to persuade America to go to bed. That way he'd get to tuck him in and know which room he'd chosen.

He was so glad Olivia had been able to help Alfred-she could be a sweet girl when she put her mind to it. Perhaps, Mathieu could learn a thing or two from her. She too had been very competitive with Alfred as a child-each possessing very strong personalities and opinions on everything under the sun. But clearly Olivia had evolved past all that-saw that Alfred was in a vulnerable position and was offering an olive branch.

Arthur frowned; his attempts to have Alfred turn in were fruitless.

The child gave him a flat frown and refused-muttering something that sounded suspiciously like: "If I leave this room at all."

To which Arthur had snapped back: "Don't you dare stay up all night with the telly and make yourself terrible company for the 'morrow."

He then made his rounds; bidding each remaining child goodnight-some of whom cringed a bit at the affection.

Well, that was too bad for them. Because he'd nearly had children eaten last October and he wasn't squandering opportunities. Painfully awkward, though they may be.

Figuring he gave Alfred enough time to settle down, he approached Alfred for a goodnight hug.

It concerned him a bit, how tightly Alfred clung to him, and he assured the child he'd see him bright and early in the morning.

There was a miserable nod and Arthur was about to take Alfred out of the room and insist he talk with him about whatever it was that was bothering him, but more than a few pairs of eyes were watching them.

And Alistair actually had the gall to mouth: _'Don't embarrass him...front of this lot.'_

Arthur bit his tongue, ruffled Alfred's hair, and reluctantly went to bed.

He slept well enough at first-pleasant dreams about navigating the Caribbean on a peaceful afternoon but they gave way to darker scenes. Soon he was fighting with the ship's wheel as a storm raged.

He tossed and turned and awoke as thunder rumbled.

No matter how he tried to quiet his mind; he remained uneasy. Mind buzzing.

Finally he threw off the covers and padded over to his retreat.

Perhaps a nightcap?

To ease his nerves.

He poured himself a little brandy and approached the windows.

Yes; it certainly was storming fiercely.

The pond looked surprisingly menacing-the waters had gotten choppy and the small row boat wasn't moored any more.

He blinked and took a deep drink.

Odd.

Had the rope come loose? They usually fastened it well.

Alas, the little boat rocked along battered by wind and waves.

He hoped it didn't sink. He'd grown rather fond of the little thing and didn't feel like going back into the market of seeking another out.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Damn his anxiety. He couldn't cast it off. His stomach started to flop-making him regret his drink choice. He set the half drank glass down. Ugh. That was expensive brandy and if this continued he was going to end up spewing it all out in the toilet.

He took a deep breath and braced himself against the window frame. He rested his forearm against the cool panes and hoped it would help calm him.

His breath left him in a rush; shocked to see the Asrai of the pond surface. She normally stayed safely underwater in conditions like this. Even from this distance, her agitation was palpable. She kept swimming around the boat-throwing her arms on it now and then to try and keep the thing from capsizing.

Poor dear. She didn't need to worry herself over it.

It was just a boat and...wait...

As one surprisingly strong wave hit the boat, Arthur was better able to see inside-

His mouth went dry.

Wot?

There was something...in...the boat?

No…

His stomach flopped again and...

Someone…

Curled up on the…

Lightning flashed; illuminating the boat's occupant and the water fairy desperately trying to prevent him from drowning.

Arthur raced out of the room, down several flights of stairs, out of the manor altogether, and into the storm.

The Asrai waved a frantic arm at him, expression pinched with distress.

Without another thought, he dove into the pond's icy waters.

For Alfred.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Hello Kitty. Or the board games: Battleship, Cranium, Bananagram. Or the film trilogies: The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. MORE stereotypes. MORE OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Apple's personal opinion regarding Middle Earth movies : D Large dysfunctional family gatherings. Amateur Welsh. Broody roosters (which are rare and kinda hilarious). Feels. But you already knew that.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! It's always a pleasure hearing from you. I'm glad everyone's getting excited! And that you've patiently waited while I wrote this out. Happy Memorial Day Weekend! And without further ado!

 **Chapter 30: Rhys's Specialty**

* * *

Canada blearily opened his eyes. _Putain?_

"Up. Get up" Wales bit out tersely.

Mathieu grabbed clumsily at his glasses and jammed them on his face.

It was still dark out. What in the world was going on?

"Mathieu. Now."

Violet eyes widened.

It was rare to hear Rhys so…

He usually sounded a bit bored. A bit reserved. A bit put upon. Some grumbled he was a bit cold. But irate?

And yet there he was, looming in the doorframe, body tense.

Canada sat up.

The Welshman gave a nod and abruptly left the room before Mathieu could ask what was wrong.

As Mathieu staggered into the hallway, he caught sight of his beleaguered housemates.

Their unified grumblings were punctuated by Wales' sharp "Up. Now. Up" as he barged into rooms.

"Head down to the Marble Parlor."

Which sent a shudder down their spines; that was the room Jet had dubbed: Lecture Hall Leviathan. It was a large room with seafoam green marble tiling the floor. Supposedly, if Reilley's drunken ramblings were to be trusted, it was intended to showcase art (likely statues, artifacts, and oil paintings). But the sun set on the British Empire before Arthur could realize his intentions for the room. Instead, the somewhat vacant room had always been Arthur's go to place to have them gather where he either informed them (usually that an urgent matter required his attention and he had to leave early on a war campaign) or disciplined them (because someone had broken into the liquor cabinet and he highly doubted they did so unassisted).

As they trudged downstairs, he swore he heard Jet grumble "To the Belly of the Beast."

As Mathieu staggered by a grandfather clock, he noted the time: 1:40 am...and Seychelles bright pink pajama set.

As she noticed Mathieu's stare, she blushed "Taiwan gets a lot of Hello Kitty stuff. I made the mistake of saying that I thought that Sanrio characters were cute. Now I get tons of stuff from her...and Japan...cuz she told him."

"You better hope, China doesn't learn about it."

She grimaced. If Yao learned she was getting free Sanrio stuff from them, he'd pitch a fit.

Whatever Mathieu was expecting (and he'd experienced a lot; he'd been informed of England's entrance to both World Wars in that room) it was a surprise to see a drenched and furious Arthur waiting.

"Line up!" he barked.

It was perhaps the tone that broke the lot of them out of sleepy stupors.

"I. Want. Answers. Who is responsible?"

They shared bewildered glances.

"Tell me; whatever inspired you to do such a cruel, malicious thing to poor Alfred?"

Merde.

This was over the initiation. He held in a sigh. Alfred had gone running to Arthur. And no doubt Arthur had wound himself up tightly with righteous paternal anger but...wait...why was Arthur soaked?

"He had the easiest one to date!" Barbados burst out. Her green facial beauty mask cracking a bit as she frowned, "Besides, _they_ approved it" leveling a hand at Alistair and Reilley. "They approve ALL the initiations."

"Wot?" One great bushy eyebrow rose.

"Jaysus...wait for it" Reilley muttered.

"WOT?" The other eyebrow rose to meet

Alistair swore softly in Scottish Gaelic.

"WOT?! You bloody approved this?!" The eyebrows twitched with barely restrained wrath.

"We approved the room!" Reilley cut in.

"What? The room? What do you mean the room?"

She blinked and set a hand on her hip, "What? Is there lead paint in there?" A note of genuine surprise in her voice.

"It was supposed to be an easy one" Alistair added "All he had to do was spend a night in there. We know he's still healing. Tha's why we figured he needed something that wouldn't be too hard on him. He could just sleep. He could just _bloody_ sleep. How much easier could we make it and still have it count as an initiation? Reilley said he was even gonna check on him-"

"I DID at midnight! He was snoozing!"

Mathieu blinked. What...happened…?

"Well some time between midnight and 0100, Alfred was moved to a boat. On the pond," Arthur stormed over to the window and pulled back it's drape with perhaps a bit more dramatic flair than was strictly necessary "into THAT storm!"

Nature was on Arthur's side because the sky lit up with an ominous flash of lightning.

"Damn thing nearly capsized" Arthur hissed "I got to him just in time. He could've drowned!"

What…?!

Barbados wouldn't have actually….

None of them would actually…

Would they?

Yeah, America was pretty regularly obnoxious, but nothing he did warranted... _that_...

No one dared speak. That most definitely had NOT been in their plan when Barbados had emailed them her proposal for America's initiation.

But who deviated from the plan?

"He. Could. Have. DROWNED."

"Arthur" Rhys called from the doorway, "Randolph and Emil are checking over the state of our security cameras. Apparently, we had four...damaged."

What in the…

Arthur's face paled even more, "Inform Berwald of the situation. Immediately. He can decide if he wants Peter to stay given the...circumstances."

"Will do," Rhys turned on his heel.

Arthur prowled before the line taking care to look each of them hard in the eye.

"It will not be tolerated. Do you understand? I will NOT allow such behavior."

He spoke quietly, dangerously. And there was something in the way he moved that put them on edge.

You usually only caught it if you hid behind a curtain or entered a meeting before its conclusion.

That unsettling lionesque fluidity that only appeared when Arthur was speaking with diplomats or personifications of enemy lands.

A gracefully ruthless side Canada had witnessed during La guerre de la Conquête when his Papa was defeated and the spoils of war (namely himself) was changing hands. He knew only the most rudimentary English at the time but the tone...The silky, amused tone which had promptly turned pleasant as he noticed Mathieu.

It had made him pity Alfred when he first rebelled. He had no idea of the fight that was waiting for him.

More silence followed.

"Will no one step forward to claim responsibility?"

"..."

"Spare your fellows hardship and blame?"

"..."

"No? Very well. The guilty party has had his or her chance. Speak. Whomever of you knows. Do not cover for them."

"..."

Mathieu glanced around. And saw other eyes looking his way. No one seemed quite confident enough to throw another under the bus and no one felt charitable enough to be the scapegoat.

"Well?"

"..."

"Very well then. Those who share in silence...can share in the punishment. Rhys will fetch you in the morning."

He stalked out of the room not even bothering to turn around as he barked "dismissed!"

Mathieu followed after him dazedly as his mentor stormed up the stairs.

"Do you think it's too late to exchange my ticket for an earlier return flight?" Seychelles' voice bounced in the entry way.

What Mathieu planned to do or say once he caught up to Arthur, he wasn't sure, but he was anxious to make sure Alfred was alright.

As he carefully approached the partially opened door of the Master Bedroom, he spied Mr. Gray sitting vigil in a high backed chair with a cane (that he usually didn't use during the daytime) at his side.

Alfred was dozing; looking none the worse for wear, despite his unplanned garden voyage.

From the looks of it, he'd been wrapped up like a sushi in a thick, fuzzy blanket and then tucked into bed.

Arthur paced back and forth. Dark spots appearing in the carpet as he continued dripping pond water.

"Initiations...can you believe that? Initiations. Of all the idiotic, unnecess-"

"Sir, you'll catch your death in those wet things. Might want to rinse off too. Alfred already had his bath. Ponds can have bacteria. It's probably alright but better to err on the side of caution I think. Don't want you or the little fellow catching ill."

"Hm? Oh. Right. Right, yes. I'm just not...thinking."

Arthur disappeared into the washroom and the sound of a shower was soon heard.

Should he come in? Relieve Mr. Gray of his duties?

Alfred whimpered.

And similar to when Alfred had broken down at Arthur's house, Mathieu felt at a loss of what to do. Now that their ages were so drastically different-he found himself in the awkward age gap between sibling and parent. What sort of support was he supposed to give? What would be patronizing? What would be necessary?

"There, there" the old man murmured-resting a hand on the child's head. "You're alright."

Maybe it was because Mr. Gray had never known an adult Alfred, that interacting with him was so simple. He hummed lightly, checked Alfred for any signs of fever, and then tucked the coverlet more securely around him.

Mathieu hesitated too long and missed his opportunity to slip in the room with some semblance of grace and concern and purpose.

Arthur returned dressed rather haphazardly as he toweled his hair dry. Canada blinked in surprise.

Maybe it was the image of Arthur in a long, _misbuttoned_ nightshirt. But he looked oddly young and strangely vulnerable in that moment; a twenty-something-year-old who didn't have the world as figured out as he'd thought it to be hours ago.

A far cry from how he'd presented himself downstairs.

The blond paced back and forth some more.

"Sir?"

He bit his knuckle, "S'posed to be safe here."

Mathieu's stomach flopped as his former caretaker's voice cracked: "... _ **so**_ disappointed I-can't I-I-I...you...raise them up as best you can...to be good and right and just and...I...am...horrified."

"It'll look a sight better in the morning" Mr. Gray replied.

"Could've drowned."

"But you found him" Mr. Gray assured.

"Didn't even have a life jacket on him..."

The elderly man pulled a corner of the blankets back.

Arthur unsteadily wandered over, "Little ones sink you know...they just...disappear down into the depths. Can happen so fast. Even now. Centuries later. And there's still deaths every year."

"Try to rest, Sir."

Arthur sat down heavily on the mattress, "As little as 5 centimeters. That's all it takes. And there was water accumulating in the boat as the waves splashed over-"

"But you rescued him" Mr. Gray responded firmly as Arthur slowly resigned himself to laying down.

Alfred sleepily wriggled closer for warmth-teeth chattering.

"He does have a bit of a chill" Mr. Gray remarked. "I think warm, dry bedding and a good night's rest ought to cure it."

Canada had to commend the man: that was a well laid distraction; rather than continuing his depressing train of thought, Arthur promptly turned his attentions to Alfred. Budding despair transformed into zealous fussing.

"My poor lamb…"

He fluffed the pillows and cradled him closer.

"Safe and sound now" Mr. Gray observed.

"...yes...thank you."

"No need. Just try to rest now" the butler murmured-moving over to a control panel to dim the lights. "Just ring if you need something. Someone will come, I promise."

"Thank you" Arthur sighed gratefully as he turned on his side.

The man shook his head and left the room-eyes widening as he noticed Mathieu.

Canada made to enter, but the man gave a harsh shake of the head that surprised him.

The man exited the room, firmly closed the door behind him, and then acknowledged the Canadian, "Mr. Williams? May I help you?"

"I...you see...my brother…"

"Will see you in the morning. Following a, god allowing, good night's rest."

"Yes, but-"

"Mattieboy?" Reilley squawked as he lugged Alfred's suitcase toward Arthur's bedroom. He had one hand on the suitcase's handle and the other was carrying toys. "Ta bed with ya. Trust me you'll need the rest and your wits come tomorrow. All o' you will have to be up at six."

Canada blinked.

"Wales' preference. He's in charge of the punishment" North shrugged. "And if ya don't show...Prepare to be hauled outta bed by your ears. His favorite or not."

* * *

Reilley felt banjaxed after a measly three hours of sleep and judging from the matching bags under Alistair's eyes-he wasn't alone.

Though...neither of them quite compared to Wales.

Wales was flustered. And when Wales was flustered he didn't sleep. Instead, he'd commandeered Arthur's car (which hopefully remained unnoticed), drove to town on some sort of mission, and returned to the house every bit as bothered as when he left. Though he now had some spectacularly bloodshot eyes.

Ooh me, it was going to be a fun day.

Rhys had dragged a chair into the Marble Parlour and was sitting on it-scrutinizing his clipboard for likely the millionth time.

All the guests' and staff's names were on it.

Hell, Reilley and Alistair's names were still on it.

The only excluded ones being Arthur, Alfred, and Rhys himself. Though Alistair had loudly complained on the latter and finally added a Post-It Note with "Wales" penned on it and stuck it on the list.

"I mean...how do we know for certain, Alfred didn't sleepwalk there. I used to find Jet in the _oddest_ places" Scotland argued.

Reilley rolled his eyes, "Cuz Alfred sleeps like a sack o' potatoes. I swear he gains ten pounds when he lies down to kip."

What surprised Reilley was that Wy and Sealand (despite being excused from last night's reprimand and this morning's punishment) were still on the Suspect List.

Reilley made his doubts known and was slightly flattered that Rhys took the time to jot it down (usually his brother would just give him a flat stare and reply "I see" leaving Reilley to wonder if anything he said would be added to the report). After all, Sealand (while he could deliver a good jab) lacked the upper body strength it would take to carry Alfred the whole way.

And Alistair had quickly noted that Wy wouldn't have been able to keep her "gob" shut about it as she liked to announce all her accomplishments like a royal herald. And the two children (despite getting on fairly well) wouldn't have been able to work together without Seborga mediating and humoring their bossy personalities. Both Wy and Sealand always wanted to be the "Captain of the Ship" so to say.

Reilley flashed a grin as the children shuffled in.

"Livvie..." Mathieu sighed.

She scoffed and readjusted two bangles on her wrist, "No. You're determined to make me the villain. Just because I'll never run a daycare doesn't mean that I eat babies for breakfast. I didn't do it and I-"

"Oh hang up" Jamaica growled "Nobody's listenin.' We all know it's you. And now you jus' tryin' a set a bait up for the rest of us so you-"

"Why would _**I**_ be the one? I'm already the one who put him in the room. Don't you think launching him off to sea would be a bit...too much? Besides, how do we know Alfred didn't get there by himself? Maybe this is all an elaborate scheme for sympat-"

"Because Alfred can't sleep standing up, let alone manage stairs, navigate the grounds, and find a boat in the dead of night" Canada argued.

"Why would he need _more_ sympathy?" Hong Kong asked evenly-eyeing her calmly "His circumstances are fundamentally sympathetic."

Bless ya, Kaoru. Just nippin' that in the bud early. Couldn't've worded it better himself. And North noted with some satisfaction that both Barbados and Canada fidgeted a bit at that cold logic.

Jet had warned him the other day that those two were goin' green regarding Alfred. He'd pulled him aside to tell him:

" _It ain't right" Jet murmured "They're…" he gestured at the two of them and tapped the side of his head "...not right up there. They're...earbashing 'bout grudges from centuries ago. I mean...it'd be like if I just...went up to Wy and started holding her accountable for what she chewed on when she was teething. Watch for it, alright mate?" The Australian shuddered._

Yes; that would definitely be something to watch for. While Alfie boy could be an attention whore-"showing off" was more his style than "being victimized." And if the world of difference between the two wasn't noticeable to them then…well...it hinted that ANY attention was undeserved...that Alfred wasn't allowed to have ANY attention at all...no matter what happened to him.

Which was was just...unacceptable.

And damn did it make them look guilty for last night's stunt. Especially, since it was only the older children who knew where the cameras were stationed.

When everyone was gathered, Wales stood up with his clipboard and a large cup.

"Choose a toothbrush" Wales ordered imperiously as he held out a plastic cup full of them. "Reds over there by Alistair. Blues with Reilley. And Greens, you'll be staying with me."

Jet got a few laughs as he recited a commercial on the dangers of "gingivitis" which earned a glare from Rhys.

The Welshman held himself tall and merciless, "You...will be scrubbing grout lines."

There was a collective groan.

Aye, little 'uns. Exhausting, humbling, and tedious-Rhys's specialty.

"Until lunch or when the perpetrator is revealed. Allow me to repeat that. Should the perpetrator of last night's... _ **prank**_ reveal himself or be revealed by one who is aware of his or her deeds-the punishment will end."

There was a beat of silence and then-

"We all know it was you Barbados."

"Maybe it _**is**_ too obvious" Jet muttered.

Seychelles frowned, "Who would be the least likely...it was New Zealand!"

"Me? Why would I have anything against Alfred?"

Hong Kong offered, "Deep down you harbor resentment that the only thing you'll be remembered for in America's country...is Middle Earth movies. And the Hobbit wasn't as good as Lord of the Rings."

New Zealand's mouth dropped, "It's the cinematic twist NO ONE would suspect. Maybe I AM the culprit. I must've entered some sort of blackout like in those videogames when the madness sets in. I need help. Today, I'm going to call a counselling hotline."

Reilley and Alistair shared a look while Rhys discreetly crossed Jake off the list.

* * *

England did his best to exude calmness as Wy, Sealand, and America crowded around the telly to watch anime in the Drawing Room. They were seated much closer than Arthur would normally allow but…

He took a deep breath and released it, he was the adult; being visibly distressed would upset them.

Emerald eyes stay kept straying to Alfred who was losing interest in the program. He turned around-eyes widening as he noticed Arthur's gaze on him.

Arthur forced a smile and the boy smiled back.

Poor lamb...

America had been very cold and confused when England had clambered onto the boat and shaken him awake. He hadn't the foggiest notion how he'd wound up there when he'd gone to sleep in the "creepy room."

The child's main concern as the boat rocked was over why he was "wet." He'd plucked at his clothes worriedly and had only calmed when Arthur gestured to the downpour drenching them.

Thankfully, Mr. Gray hadn't minded that Arthur knocked on his door at an unGodly hour-requesting aid to help raise an alarm that his child had been placed in grave danger that night.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Gray had proved himself worth thrice his weight in gold. He'd taken one look at the sorry state of the two of them and ushered them in as he made calls to the housekeeper and footmen to rouse the staff to do a sweep of the building and grounds just in case there might be an intruder. They'd had a break in, a few years back, and while nothing went missing and no one was injured-it had resulted in taking such dangers more seriously.

Gray's immediate concern was for Alfred.

Even now, when it had become clear from Alistair and Reilley that Alfred's "adventure" that the night was more likely the result of an initiation going too far and not an odd hiding place from a burglar...Mr. Gray remarked that he wasn't taking any chances. He was having all of the remaining security cameras' footage reviewed. A repairman for the damaged cameras had already been called for that morning.

Good man.

He couldn't say the same for his brothers. Well, Alistair and Reilley at least. It had been a shock to find Rhys every bit as horrified and surprised as himself that "initiations" were taking place under their roof.

Alistair was adamant that it reduced rivalry and unified the children as a team. Reilley had shrugged that it was usually done the first night a ward visited the manor and that technically Alfred had already gotten a freebie. The Irishman went rather pale as the Briton reminded him that said "freebie" night followed a fainting spell.

It was just...unacceptable.

Being given a "creepy" room. No wonder the little one hadn't wanted to turn in. Damn Alistair for interfering. He could've rooted out the whole thing if he'd just questioned the boy and tucked him in.

That morning he'd asked the child to show him the room.

The sheet clad mannequins made ghostly figures. The dusty antiques already threw menacing shadows in daytime-Arthur could only imagine how unnerving the room was at night. And the gargoyles…

And the fact that it was a storage room! An unswept, unhygienic, tucked away storage room!

He apologized. God, it was all he could do. For the horrid room. For the terrible treatment. For the boat. For the other children's lack of empathy.

And Alfred had stared at him-blue eyes uncomprehending. Not making the connection that he was the guardian that had raised all of them. _Of course_ , he felt responsible.

" _Why? Dude...you didn't do it."_

" _Because I'm your father and I invited you here and I don't like to see you mistreated."_

 _There'd been a blink at that. He scuffed a light up shoe, chewed on his lip, and one horrible eternity later he nodded._

 _Before Arthur could continue the child grinned, "_ _ **There's**_ _Pilot!"_

 _Alfred raced over to an armoire. The toy sat unassumingly on one of the inner shelves and a profound sense of unease filled Arthur. Because he'd sworn he'd seen the toy in his bedroom that morning and narrowly avoided stepping on it as he got out of bed._

" _Ya know…" Alfred murmured-spreading the wings of the bald eagle with a contemplative expression. "The hero is tough, right?"_

 _An understatement._

" _And sometimes being the hero means putting up with crap from other people. 'Specially when you're in a 'delicate negotiation' and they're not brave enough to man up and come at cha. Cuz they're afraid of getting the punch that they deserve and being in headlines. Sooo it's little stuff. Ya know: you get the hotel room view of the dumpsters. Your food at certain places is always served cold. You get told the wrong meeting times...or places…" He shrugged. "I should've slept with the door locked."_

All attempts to argue that NO, no one had the right to make him feel that way (that he damn well should've been safe in that room or any other) were met with resistance.

Alfred had never been especially observant in reading the atmosphere...which meant those things happened with such frequency over the centuries that he'd been unable to ignore what it meant or one of his officials saw fit to explain the occurrences.

While on some level, he realized that Alfred was trying to fight feelings of helplessness by reevaluating his role and giving himself more power over what happened...it was disturbing.

That constant doubt. That need to be on guard at all times.

 _"Not fair. I've always gotta be the good guy when people are mean to me."_

And situations like this…reinforced the belief of: You let your guard down, therefore YOU let this happen.

" _I should've slept with the door locked."_

" _It'll never be over."_

Arthur shuddered. Both statements uttered in that bleak, hard tone.

Blue.

Always at the ready.

Like a minuteman.

Like a persistent weed that wouldn't be exterminated.

When he realized Alfred wasn't going to be reasoned with on that front, for now, he did what he could to at least lessen the room's eeriness. So the boy wouldn't have new subject matter for his night terrors. The child had broken Arthur's old heart the previous night whimpering softly about being dragged out into the dark.

He walked about the room mentioning how he bought this sofa because...

Was gifted this table when…

Never cared for this chandelier since it wasn't quite symmetrical but it would've been rude to refuse for…

It gradually led to Alfred pointing at various pieces and Arthur giving the backstory of those old candle sconces, that old trunk, that tasteless elephant's foot end table.

" _And this?" Alfred asked-holding up a winding key on a delicate silver chain._

" _I...I don't know about that one poppet" Arthur murmured-examining it curiously. No...he didn't recall it at all. Perhaps it belonged to an old toy of Jake's or Kaoru's._

 _It was curiously dust and tarnish-free though..._

He really did need to have that storage room cleared out. It made him feel like quite the hypocrite-chastising Alfred for hoarding when there was plenty that Arthur needed to release. He was certain there was a curator somewhere that'd be interested in the bulk of it and the funds could be allotted for their Kirkland Hall project.

Arthur had gently taken the key and pocketed it. Maybe he'd remember later what it belonged to and if the toy could be located and was intact-Alfred could play with it.

When Alfred's stomach growled, Arthur ushered him downstairs to the dining room where they met up with Sweden, Sealand, and Wy.

Mrs. O' Hannagain out did herself-making a full English breakfast that the four of them had first pick of.

The rest (and there was enough to feed a small army) would be kept in warming trays-saved for the other children who would receive one mandatory meal hour at ten. Late enough for them to feel a pull of real hunger but early enough that it wouldn't ruin their appetites for the day.

Following breakfast, Arthur encouraged America and Wy to peruse the library with Mr. Gray while he had a private conversation with Sweden and Sealand regarding the holiday.

Uncomfortable. Most uncomfortable for all involved.

Ultimately, a very, very reluctant Berwald had left Peter in his care that morning. Mainly because the boy had pitched such a fit…citing how Sweden how forgotten him during one past Christmas and how Berwald and Arthur (who admittedly had often left the child with nannies over the years...though the child had loudly and repeatedly told him how much he disliked Arthur!) owed him a _**good**_ Christmas.

One with gingerbread houses and cookies and trees and music! One that he was somehow certain Alfred was going to get.

His fixation on the younger boy worried Arthur. And for a horrible moment, he contemplated whether Sealand could've been responsible.

Except…

The child's surprise...when Arthur tried to explain to him what had happened to Alfred, and both his current and former caregiver's concern that someone could treat Peter in such a way…

Prompted such an unusual response.

Peter had tearfully volunteered to catch the "bad guy."

If he could _**just**_ stay.

Rejection.

Fear of rejection had oozed out of the boy along with a torrent of tears and snot.

And considering how much damage had been done between Alfred and himself by incorrectly interpreting themselves as rejected by the other...

Arthur didn't have the heart to send poor Peter with Berwald while he figured out who the prankster was. The boy would misconstrue his good intentions.

Which left Arthur with a new daily task of sending Berwald texts so that he could feel more comfortable knowing his ward was safe. And as Arthur had no intention of inviting the Nordic Five's wrath down upon himself (he did not want Norway's troll paying him an unfriendly visit)-he was quick to program an alert in his phone to remind him.

Berwald had given him a very hard stare before he entered his taxicab.

Arthur sighed and busied himself by pulling out board games; a perfect diversion for the rainy day.

They turned the telly to one of those cheesy slapstick holiday movies and played a few rounds of _Cranium_ and _Bananagram._ Unsurprisingly, given their night, Alfred and Arthur began yawning not long after. While Wy and Sealand had it out with _Battleship,_ they retired to the couch.

After several less than discreet peeks, to confirm that Alfred was asleep and Arthur was "distracted" with the telly, Wy asked Sealand, "Why do you think America got targeted for a double initiation?"

"...who told you?" Peter asked.

"I overheard Seychelles and Hong Kong."

Peter shrugged, "I dunno. But...we're probably gonna hear about it a lot. Eventually, he's gonna figure out his was the most "hardcore." And he's gonna have bragging rights."

The boy quelled under Arthur's hard stare and focused on his game.

When Wy lost for a second time and was growing surly, England invited her to show him her latest artwork.

She happily complied and pulled out her phone. As she swept her finger across the screen and chatted about her recent exploits with oils, Arthur noticed the intense look Peter was paying Alfred.

So help him, if he chose now to start acting up...behaving as he did on their disastrous playdate...

Arthur cleared his throat-startling Peter to attention. He glanced down, clumsily put _Battleship_ back in its box and sat awkwardly on the floor.

Arthur sighed. In the parking lot of McDonald's, Peter had been very upset over Arthur "favoring" Alfred. Just thinking about it, combined with Peter's outburst that morning…

Could one of the other children have felt similar? Had that been what prompted last night's cruel prank?

That misguided belief that love was a limited resource? That a heart only had so much room...

It made his lungs seize painfully.

Peter twisted his fingers in his sleeves and bit his bottom lip in uncertainty.

Alfred did that when he was nervous.

Was that a tic they'd both gotten from him? Had Arthur done that when he was small? And now his son and his spli-his...brother? Had inherited it?

"C'mere lad," he patted the cushion beside him.

The boy didn't move.

"Have you seen Wy's latest works?"

"I saw a couple."

"Well you didn't see them all" Wy remarked.

Peter hesitated-unsure if he'd be welcome.

Arthur beckoned him over and the child shyly shuffled forward.

"Come, come" Arthur insisted.

The boy hopped up onto couch coming close...but...not too close.

Arthur wrapped an arm around Peter and pulled him in, so the two of them could play "adoring audience" as Wy cycled through a myriad of paintings, crafts, sketches, oil and acrylic experiments.

"That one looks like a nose" America murmured drowsily as he came to.

"It does NOT" Wy bit out.

"..it kinda does" Peter agreed.

"It's a mega schnauze."

"Alfred" Arthur warned as the young girl bristled.

"You pea brains just can't appreciate abstract art."

"Young lady, it is unbecoming to insult one's critics when they-"

"What's it called?" Alfred asked as he rubbed an eye.

"I call it _Clandestine_ -"

"Bogey up ya nose" Peter declared.

Alfred guffawed appreciatively.

Rather pleased with the result, Peter repeated himself louder and more triumphantly which elicited more laughter from Alfred.

"Boys" England scolded as Wy fumed "I think it's quite lovely, my dear. The different shades of green are quite fetching."

Even if it did look like a rather large nose.

* * *

Scotland leaned against the door frame. He had an hour to himself while the others had breakfast and then he'd have to go back to playing Prison Officer.

He surveyed the Drawing Room. The table was strewn with board games and toys. The telly was showing a documentary on searching for Atlantis.

Arthur was sitting in the middle of the couch-Alfred curled up against his chest, Wy cuddled under his right arm, and Sealand snuggled under his left.

"Got your brood?"

Arthur glowered and shushed him, "They're sleeping."

Alistair scoffed as he walked over-taking a seat on a clear corner of the table because Arthur hated when he "didn't use furniture properly."

Sure enough, his brother's eyebrows twitched.

Alistair smirked, "You remind me of this ol' barmy rooster I had in 1540. Damn thing chased away hens to hatch clutches of eggs himself."

Arthur's face reddened but he made no attempt to get up and disturb his "chicks."

Which honestly made him a sitting duck and worked well in Alistair's favor. He needed to vent at the one who kept putting him in the middle of messes, "So then, ya intend to just laze about on your arse all day? Your text this morning said you wanted help setting a bed up for Alfred."

"I do."

"And how do you s'pose you'll manage that, playing nursemaid?"

"Simple."

"Oh?"

"You will do it."

"O will I? All by me lonesome? Doesn't sound like ya need 'help.' Sounds like ya plan on just delegating what you don't wanna do but need done."

"You will do it. After lunch. As an apology. I can't believe you and Reilley would encourage this sort of behavior...You're not even that upset."

Alistair frowned, "If it _had_ capsized, I trust that he'd have woken up and swam ashore. He's...not a complete bampot, like you. But don't tell him I said that."

"Alistair."

The Scotsman stiffened as he looked over to the doorway where a frowning Rhys was standing.

Great. What now? Rhys had been a pain all morning. Angry at him for having initiations. Angry at him for keeping them secret. Angry that Reilley was a part of it. Angry that Alistair wasn't as upset as him and Arthur over the boat.

So what?

What could it be now?

"You didn't come in with the rest of us...so I made you a plate" He held it up.

"Rhys" he grumbled-face flushing. His embarrassment worsened as his youngest brother began to snicker.

"Shut it, you-"

"Alba" The Welshman's hazel eyes narrowed and he emphasized the plate again, "...bwyta eich brecwast."

Goddammit. His face was as red as his hair. He knew it.

"Yes, Alistair," Arthur remarked cheekily, "it's the most important meal of the day. And we wouldn't want to worry dear Rhys by having you skip it."

"Shut ye geggie."

"Alba" Rhys insisted "Tyd yma."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Monopoly. Or Twister. Quote from Herman Melville's Moby Dick. The UK's Corn Laws.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. MORE stereotypes. MORE OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Alfred takes a stand. In which a very, VERY awkward Rhys tries to make things better…with mixed results. Alfred gains better insight into himself for better or worse. Alistair sets up a bed. And Arthur is locked out of the loop. Sadly, Reilley gets no lines and Texas has yet to be informed of what went down. Tarts-the edible, pastry sort. Pirate insults. Singing.

 **Special Warning:** Flashback Angst. Fairly Dark. Dark enough that I feel a little warning is necessary.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! I read them for motivation! So glad to see you guys are still interested in this winter tale, despite us heading into June! XD I have a surprisingly long chapter for you! Enjoy!

 **Chapter 31: It Wasn't Enough**

* * *

Lunch was several shades of uncomfortable as Alfred noticed his fellow meal eaters were all grungy and grumpy and reluctant to look at him...aside from Jet and Jake who still waved from the other end of the table.

But the rest of them…

Canada wouldn't make eye contact, Seychelles was zoning out, and Hong Kong's gaze kept lingering on his hands. Barbados sympathetically remarked about the abuse done to his poor pianist fingers.

Alfred couldn't help it; it kinda amused him that labor was the chosen punishment.

Arthur would sometimes send his rebellious teenage self to muck out their stables...until he realized that their stablehand had been retired for a year following a stroke and that Alfred had already been caring for the horses in his stead. So it wasn't a punishment so much as being allotted extra time to take care of the task.

Dad figured it out pretty fast though and demanded letters of apology to himself and snobby aristocrats. That sucked waaaay worse than shovelling horse shit.

The fact that they were getting all pissy about scrubbing floors...geez how spoiled...

Arthur must've really dropped the ball when he raised _them_. Broke out the silk cushions instead of a bucket and mop. Yeah, they knew which stupid spoon to use, but OMG dirt under the nails. Say it ain't so!

Personally, he felt a more fitting punishment would've been insisting they be nice to him for the day and indulge him by playing Monopoly and Twister...with Twister being played on the lawn...with the sprinklers on.

 _ **That**_ would've been fun.

Still, his little boat ride through the Tunnel o' Loathe put things into perspective. This was the sort of holiday he was gonna have.

They were letting him know loud and clear that he was the odd man out. Initiation his foot!

Like they even needed to bother! As if Wales hadn't clued him in on how to how backwoodsy he was compared to the rest of them, with all his pep talks and corrections and disapproving glares.

Yeah, Alfred was the bumpkin skeleton from Arthur's closet...the bastard child who dared to appear in Court...with all the golden kids...

Yeah.

Fine.

Whatever.

Nah, the hardest part had been dealing with his old man. England was so offended FOR him, it hardly left any room to be rightfully annoyed himself.

Even now he could feel it…

It was squashed down but...Arthur was hurting...he could...sense it...through that weird connection they now had.

And Arthur's sadness was draining in a way that Olivia's thinly veiled contempt and the others' irritation never was.

And the only way to deal with it all was by downplaying his reaction to the hazing. Getting upset would just make the old man _more_ upset-locking them in a loop.

Alfred took a deep gulp of juice and set the glass down. He just...needed to get over it. And show them that while they could think whatever the hell they wanted about him, he wasn't gonna put up with being their punching bag. Time to play hardball back.

He glanced over to where Mattie, Olivia, and Michelle were joking with one another as the meal wrapped up and their plates were whisked away.

To where Jamaica was entertaining Wy and Sealand.

To Jake and Jet who were sniggering at something on Jet's phone-reminding him so much of himself and Texas that…

He took a deep breath.

He wasn't gonna have that here.

He stared at his half-eaten meal.

Nope.

Not gonna...happen…

And that was fine…

One less distraction; he needed to focus on what he really came here for: _GoGo Magic Hogwarts: Part Two Rule_ -

A warm hand rested on his head and began petting his hair.

Against his better judgment...and almost against his will-Alfred pressed into the gentle touch.

Dammit. Stupid two-way street connection! Underneath all the tough words and careless shrugs...Arthur could sense...

Dammit...

It was like when they'd play hide and seek and a young Al would curl up under a chair rather than under a bed or in a trunk or in a tree or in a thousand other better places. It wasn't until Mattie always found him and blurted out that Arthur only pretended not to notice him there at first...and that his American brother was 'stupide' that Alfred started stepping up his game. Concealing himself the way Osha taught him to hide from wolves so that their games could be the challenge Mattie thought they ought to be…

Even though they never ended as fun as they did before...when it was just him and Arthur. And the Briton would lift him up in the air and twirl them around before bringing him close and tickling him. No, his father would be white-faced and worried-nostrils flaring with barely suppressed fury as he scaled the roof to get Alfred down from where he was hiding behind the chimney.

Now...

...Now he was back to hiding under chairs again...wasn't he?

...Because Mattie was waaay over there on the other side of the table...and...Alistair was busy talking to Rhys and Reilley…

And nobody was watching except maybe Mr. Gray and that one footman dude...David? Damon? And they didn't care….so…

Arthur pulled Alfred's chair closer to his own and Alfred made use of the opportunity to hop over the chair arms and onto Arthur's lap.

* * *

As Scotland lugged bed parts in, he understood why Arthur had chosen him for this. Reilley would've pitched a fit-seeing how much larger Arthur's bedroom (especially with a retreat added onto it) compared to the rest of theirs. And he'd have definitely smuggled something out for himself. Probably that decanter of port...Alistair would just demand it as part of his service fee.

Scotland grumbled to himself as he hammered the wooden pegs of the box bed into place.

Damn antique pain in the arse!

Olivia had been right. The minute Arthur took notice of the Breton box bed, he'd wanted it for Alfred.

" _I really thought…" Olivia murmured-fidgeting with her sports headband "After we cleared it out, it would work. Otherwise Rhys had rooms available at his end."_

" _I know lassie, but Arthur wants him closer than this."_

" _Seems like a perfectly good space. Twice the size of most of our-"_

" _It's too far."_

" _Well I don't see why one of us should have to surrender our quarters-"_

" _Yeh don't."_

" _But you just-"_

" _Arthur wants him in his room. There's an office space there we'll convert into a be-"_

" _I could make this a nice room though. No tricks this time!" She insisted. "Can't I at least tr-"_

" _It's. Too. Far." He ran a hand over his face. "Livvie. I dunno how much Arthur told yeh. But they hurt him. Bad. And apparently he gets...dreams...still. Reilley dropped off his suitcases last night and he heard...never you mind. All yeh need to know is that Arthur wants him close. Arthur…" he sighed "to be honest...Arthur wouldn't've been alright with this room even if you lot hadn't pulled your little stunt afterwards. It was a one night room. Hell, he wouldn't have agreed to this room even if it had been child friendly. It's just too far away..."_

 _Far enough away that nasty little pranks could be pulled...making Arthur's smothering overprotectiveness...somewhat justified. Though for Alfred's sake, Alistair vowed he'd never admit it. Laddie just needed to recover his strength and he wasn't gonna manage that with everyone playing pity party with him._

" _...oh. But then...where did you...plan that he was going to end up?"_

 _He blinked, "Is that even a question? Reilley's wing. So be nice to the bogtrotter. Poor sod's mourning lost chances of having someone to whinge to for hours on end."_

Alistair checked his handiwork. Reilley was hunting for a mattress that would fit. Arthur was searching for a set of bed curtains.

 _"Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me."_

His gaze slid to where Alfred was standing beside a wheel that was mounted to the floor-Pilot the eagle was now a makeshift parrot.

Arthur had planned on having his little novelty nautical room redecorated before Alfred set foot there, but the boy had barged in early.

He was currently in a fantasy; spinning the wheel and barking out lines from _Moby Dick_ along with a slew of what the lad believed to be 'Pirate Lingo.' Hollywood edition. Still, it was amusing when real ones did crop up now and then. Poor laddie, a shame he mixed and matched incorrectly. Though "I'll keelhaul yer poxfaced parrot!" was one of Scotland's new favorites.

And it did give Scotland ammunition.

There was only one person, he could've learned those more colorful ones from…

So the next time Arthur tried to argue that Alistair was a bad influence on his nephew-he'd be ready.

"There you are."

Alistair frowned-couldn't Rhys preoccupy himself for a few hours? Was it so much to ask?

"Ahoy! The great white Whales!" Alfred greeted cheerily.

Alistair snorted outright and Rhys raised a bushy eyebrow at the introduction.

Rhys cleared his throat and nimbly maneuvered himself around Alistair's toolbox, "Alfred, I wanted to keep you informed on the matter at hand."

"Oho me matey?"

"Now, I am deeply sorry that you've had to deal with-with this. I assure you I'll be going over in great detail every person's alibi and motive to ensure that you WILL have a safe stay here. In the meantime, I think if we just go over what will be expected of you: the schedule, the restaurants, the theatres and the etiquette involved...We can prove to the person or persons involved that you have no intention of-of I don't know-derailing...Anyways...they're likely acting out as a result of some manner of...juvenile insecurity and I think if we can prove that you DO wish to fall in with the rest of us harmoniously for the holiday and that it's their own efforts which are preventing that...we can all find some peace and order."

Alistair rolled his eyes and used his hammer to set in a few more pegs. Control freak. It was just his way, though. He'd filled Alistair's breakfast plate with oats because he fretted over his brother's cholesterol levels. Aye, they weren't great, but...when it was breakfast time, he wanted bacon. Dammit! Thank God Reilley had the sense to save him a rasher.

"Now, I've typed up some basic table manners that you'll find helpful. No one is expecting you to master this overnight of course, but I think with a bit of practice-you've already gotten much better with soup-"

"Look, I appreciate the...high energy you're putting into this: going all Sherlock Holmes on the case and Mary Poppins on how I hold a fork. But let's get real. Your gung ho attitude has nothing to do with me and everything to do with having your sense of social order screwed with."

Alistair felt his jaw drop and barely held onto the bloomin' hammer. Because whenever Alfred's tone changed like that…

The boy stood defiantly across from Rhys-feet apart, hands gripping the wheel, back straight.

No smile. No teasing glint in his eyes. No color in his cheeks.

Much the way Rhys delivered bad news to monarchs and Arthur fought a turbulent sea.

"Alf-"

"And maybe you're right to be upset. At them, at me, at whatever. Maybe I am the loose cannon-black-sheep that's causing all this chaos to creep out of the woodwork. But please don't try to act like you're doing me a grand favor by being decent enough to look into the matter. We both know it isn't concern for me. You don't care what happens to me."

Just like that. Alfred's view was out in the open. But the truth was a bit more complicated than that. Rhys just had issues. His powers, Mum's passing, Rome, their dysfunctional family...

A very flustered Rhys gestured with his hands futilely, "...I've never been particularly good at expressing-"

And Alistair felt bad because if Rhys had been allowed to speak in Welsh-it might've been easier to convey his feelings-constipated and awkward as they often were.

"S'okay. I don't need you to care about me. I just need you to respect me. So stop harassing me with all your rules and your ideas of how a _good_ ex-colony is supposed to act, and speak, and think. You're making me angry by not allowing me to be as I am. If others cannot accept me, I don't want them to."

 _Even you_...could be heard in the silence.

Alistair found his lips twitching into a smile; there was the strength and rancor Alistair knew and respected!

"A-mer-ica?! Arthur said you were around here somewhere! Come out, come out, come out!" Mint called.

Alistair blinked. When did she show up?

"Arthur says you like puzzles! So it's puzzle time!"

Alfred lowered his voice, "And I'd rather have those confrontations on my own terms, where I'm not obliged to walk on all the eggshells you keep setting around me. I'm not like them. The way I got my freedom is not like them. I'm different. Accept my differences, and you'll make this all a lot easier for yourself."

"Meri! Meri! Merica! Alfie, where are you!?"

"Coming Minty Fresh!" Alfred called back-almost frighteningly cheerful considering how dead serious he'd been a moment before.

He dashed away...making sound effects for Pilot...and then admitting to Mint that eagles didn't actually sound like that. Crows caw. And when you've tended as many fields as he had-you got so used to it that it became your go to birdcall.

"Well" Alistair trying to keep his tone even-and not show how relieved he was that Alfred hadn't lost his spirits. That bitch and her mindgames hadn't broken him after all. "I don't wannae say that ya asked fer it. But…Rhys?"

Which at least got Rhys to look his way and not at the open door. Though, it was hard to stay glad when it came at Rhys's expense.

"Er...?"

His brother nodded.

"Remember...a long time ago. I told you...he...had a rhyme for all of us and he forgot it."

Another nod.

"He forgot you Rhys. We told you. Not just bits…like the rest of us."

"Yes...you did" Rhys motioned with his hand to continue.

"He forgot you entirely. So, everything he knows about yeh is Post 1812. I doubt…"

 _C'mon now Alistair_ , he coached himself, y _ou do no favors by being soft about it_. He cleared his throat and continued "Rhys...I doubt he has a single _good_ memory about you."

Rhys nodded, "I see."

"Rhys…"

"I didn't go with you. To find him."

"No; yeh didn't come over."

Nod.

"And I didn't visit."

"No."

"...I did this."

Aye. He did.

"Well then…"

Ack, he was all depressed now!

Alistair fidgeted, "I..I need...help with the bed. Could you help me, brawd mawr?"

* * *

America lay on his stomach on the floor-humming as he built the border of a puzzle that was supposed to be a picture of a stained glass window.

They had the top of the box standing on its side to act as a guide.

"I don't know that song" Mint remarked thoughtfully as she held a bright green piece between her paws. "And I have heard a lot over the ages. It sounds pretty. Is it from your home?"

"Hm?" Alfred put down another piece. "I...it's just...some old song I made up a long time ago."

"Oooh! You made it up yourself? Does it have words?"

"Er…" It did...though...he'd forgotten most of them.

"Let's hear it!"

"I don't remember all of it...I was really little when-"

"Pleeease! Extra honey! Extra sugar! Extra cream!?"

Alfred chuckled and sat up, "Fine. Wore me down. But it's nothing special…"

"I'll be the judge of that!"

"Oh no a British judge! Go easy on my ego!"

She giggled as he cleared his throat a bit nervously.

He didn't inherit Arthur's vocal talents and so he didn't usually seriously sing...unless he was alone or thought he was alone or it was just for good fun or as part of a chorus or if he was with Texas but...aw well...it was just Mint. And she'd lived through eras of minstrels. So...he couldn't possibly be the worst singer or songwriter she'd ever heard.

He took a deep breath:

" _Everyone loves me like Springtime._

 _When the fields are a'blooming each day._

 _Everyone loves me like Springtime._

 _And like Springtime their love never-"_

The door opened.

"Oh hey Rhys!" Mint zoomed over.

"Mint. Alfred" Rhys greeted-he started to close the door behind him and then thought better of it-leaving it a crack open.

"Alfie was serenading me. Go on Alfie, sing it again. I really liked it."

He flushed. No way in hell.

"Awww. Fine. We're making a puzzle! Want to help? You can be in charge of the red pieces!"

America blinked. The hell? He thought he drew his friggin' line in the sand!

"Why are you here?" Alfred demanded.

Rhys dumped a blanket, a folder, and a picnic basket.

He began moving furniture around and spread the blanket out.

"You liked tarts when you were small" he murmured-gesturing to the basket. "And you missed tea."

Yeah, Arthur had tried to get him come down but he dug in his heels and the man reluctantly gave in.

Alfred's stomach growled when he peeked inside because there was a large stack of fresh tarts: apple, cherry, peach.

There were also two jars of apple juice, a mysterious velvet pouch, and...cool! Crazy straws! Awesome!

No Al, fight it! He was supposed to stay angry at this guy!

"You can pull the velvet bag out."

He hesitantly did.

"Go on, you can open it."

It had a book on palmistry, a weird ring-like thing with a claw attached to it, and a small leather locket featuring...himself.

"Does Arthur know you took this?" Alfred remarked. As a small child the existence of this trinket had convinced him he was Arthur's favorite. Had to be-for the man to carry his likeness as if it was a treasure! And the thrill of warmth that gave him, knowing someone treasured him. As the years passed, and Arthur's collection grew, the warmth faded.

Seeing it now, kindled nothing at all.

"It's mine. I paid the artist to make a double."

Startled, he looked up, "W-why?"

"You were... _ **are**_...my nephew. And at first Arthur, didn't want to introduce you to any of us. So...I bribed the artist."

"...why are you here?"

Mint pulled one of her ears nervously.

"Because...what you said rings of truths that I am...uncomfortable with. Yes. I...do take great pleasure when things are orderly and predictable. When I can layout an event, see ways it can go wrong and circumvent them-I feel triumph. I feel I have protected those placed under my care. You have been the anomaly this year."

Blue eyes narrowed.

"But there's always an anomaly" Rhys hastily assured. "Last year, it was Wy. She was in a contest and the results came in during our holiday and...it didn't turn out how she hoped. The review a judge made was…" he shook his head. "There's always an anomaly."

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip.

Rhys knelt down beside him, "Go on. Please speak."

Like a fissure under pressure he burst, "I don't want to be controlled by you!"

"Good. Because I don't want to control you. That would be exhausting. You're too young and I'm too old to keep up. I want you to know that there are rules and there is etiquette. The rules I have printed are here on the top. Rules include being respectful to everyone, letting someone know if you're going to leave the premises, keeping noise down if you know the occupant in the room besides yours is sleeping."

Alfred opened his mouth. Everybody and their Grandma kept bagging on him to fall in line!

"The rules aren't just aimed at you Alfred. Things that won't be tolerated include: setting people in boats without their consent. In choppy waters. Past midnight. THAT is not acceptable in any circumstance! "

Alfred was taken aback by how passionately that last bit came out.

Rhys breathed rather heavily as he composed himself, "And I am upset. For the reason you mentioned-yes; it flies in the face of the peace I am trying to maintain and...for you. I AM upset for you. This. Should be a safe place. I work hard to try and make it a safe place. And it wasn't. For you. And I'm sorry."

"And...etiquette?" Alfred bit out the word-vile thing...a dirty, snobbish pastime created to make special events unbearable for hard working people by making them jump through hoops.

"Etiquette is secondary. Etiquette is...if you feel confused as to how something's done, or if you want to learn the ways we do things here...Ask and I will answer. If you don't, I will silence myself on the matter. Especially, if my...previous instructions were...distressing to you. I did not mean to be causing you anxiety. I thought-well...I thought wrong. I...presented my intentions poorly. And I apologize for that too. And for leaving you in the lurch the other day. I didn't mean to oversleep. I...a migraine...I thought a nap would...I didn't mean to abandon you...that...cause you unnecessary stress. I'm sorry."

Alfred fidgeted. Usually, getting an apology out of Arthur or Alistair was like pulling teeth. If you ran smack into them, you'd get an automatic "Sorry." But if they hurt your feelings...

And here Rhys was….

And the fact that...earlier Alfred hadn't said anything about getting anxiety. Though it was true that it was really uncomfortable being closely watched when he was s'posed to be doing something enjoyable and stress free: eating.

Yeah, everybody told him Rhys was an Empath but he hadn't seen any real evidence until...

"I dunno. I don't want people laughing at me, but...I dunno why it's such a big deal here. I mean, why can't you all just watch your own plates, and leave me the hell alone?"

"Likely we don't have enough to do" Rhys muttered wryly.

"...stupid."

"...it wasn't until Victoria's reign that I had to bother with all of this. Much to my embarrassment, by that time my lack of social etiquette had become the stuff of legend throughout Europe. When it finally came to my notice, I...studied it...perhaps too zealously. And I see myself in you. And I see Europe in them. And...I don't want...you to be teased."

"...cuz it's easier to get me to conform than to tell them they're being jerks?"

"...can we seek a middle ground?"

At Alfred's hard stare, he felt compelled to explain, "Because one really shouldn't reach onto another's plate for food-"

Alfred flushed, "Arthur said I could have it!"

"-with their fingers."

"Yeah well, you guys eat cake...with your hands! How weird is that?"

Oddly enough that made Rhys chuckle, "Which is why we don't smother our cakes in frosting!"

"Blasphemy. Cake was made for frosting! And the pop tarts here are naked abominations!"

Rhys laughed outright.

"Don't laugh at my pain, Etiquette Ogre!"

"Oh yes, I am the Etiquette Ogre. Come to flick your elbows off tables and point out the dried toothpaste at the corners of your mouth."

Subconsciously, Alfred rubbed his mouth and blushed when he realized that there _**was**_ a bit of toothpaste crusted there.

Dammit.

He crossed his arms, "What are you up to? Ya don't want me to tell Arthur you keep harassing me?"

If he didn't know better, he'd say Rhys almost flinched.

His Welsh uncle sighed heavily, "I remember better times between us...you do not. Alistair warned me but...you…" he chuckled mirthlessly "I thought...Reilley said the other day that you're starting to remember...and I...hoped…"

"I don't wanna talk about this with you. You shanked me during 1812, whaddyou care about how much I remember or don't remember as a result of it?"

Rhys held up a hand, "Fair enough. I think I realize now that...from your perspective...it is...more than just unremembered it is...unfinished and I appear quite…" he took a breath "Subconsciously you see me as...I'm...a _redcoat_ to you, aren't I?"

"..."

"I'd like to change that. With your permission, I request the opportunity to regain your trust."

Alfred stared. He wasn't gonna get rid of this guy easily...was he?

"Context is...so important. I thought...I was trying to treat you as I treat the others...but..."

Blue eyes narrowed as his heartbeat began to pound in his ears.

"But the conflict that has torn us asunder is still unresolved."

"I don't wanna talk about this!"

"I know you don't. You're sending that out strongly enough. So I offer that we have a brief Palmistry lesson instead and then eat tarts until we burst. How does that sound to you?"

"..."

Dammit! He was outmaneuvered! He wanted to learn magic _and_ he was hungry.

"If you have to think of me as a Redcoated Etiquette Ogre who talks too much. I'd rather it be as the Redcoated Etiquette Ogre who also brings you treats as compensation."

"I get to have a cherry tart first!"

Rhys set the basket down in front of him and Alfred grabbed one.

Rhys rolled up his sleeves and took Alfred's right hand.

The abrupt action caused him to jerk away in surprise though, which made Rhys stare.

Alfred flushed and very reluctantly offered his right hand back.

"No" Rhys shook his head "Forgive me, I didn't ask. May I see your hand?"

Rhys held it more gently the second time. He set both of his hands around it-clasping it while he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Can I continue eating tarts with my left hand?"

"Yes."

"Do I really have to do anything? Or do I just sit here?"

"Sit there. Eat tarts. Listen."

"Kay."

Rhys opened his hazel eyes and stared down at their hands. He took Alfred's hand and began massaging it.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Always good to warm the hands up a bit before a reading to try. It's supposed to help the person relax."

"Oh" Alfred bit his lip. The massage was too hard on his fingers but-

"And it's alright to tell me, if I'm going too hard" Rhys murmured, immediately lightening up on the pressure.

He just...dammit, he was a lot like Osha wasn't he?

Unease flooded his stomach.

Rhys paused, "What's wrong?"

"You...Osha…"

"Ah yes" he gave his hand a light squeeze "I imagine there is some similarity in the...sensation. I can't manipulate your thoughts though. I can't. I promise. So you don't need to fear me doing _**anything**_ like that. I can just sense feelings. And whatever images and feelings you project to me."

"And that's supposed to be comforting?"

"It's just a side effect of my magic."

"Oh yeah? I'm s'posed to buy that? We're just happening to have a palm reading lesson and touching people lets you cheat and see into them? And you're gonna act like you've got no overarching Master Plan?"

"I don't imagine you've noticed, but the ivy has gone batty."

"Huh?"

"The garden is blooming out of season and it's not just because of the weather. And many of our plants are yielding absurd amounts of fruit in a ridiculously short amount of time. Which has resulted in the tarts you're eating."

Alfred blinked curiously as he took a bite, "And why's that?"

Did it have something to do with Yule?

"Because we have a certain someone with Gardener Magic with us this year."

"Oh...but that's good, right? Cherries and flowers and tasty stuff to eat is good, right?"

"Yes. And so is knowing that someone is upset and you're largely to blame. Helps you try and make it right."

"So...you _**are**_ cheating."

"I'm cheating."

"Kay. Just...don't act like you're not."

"Now, your fingers are longer than three quarters of your palm. You are long fingered."

"Kay."

"Means you like to separate things rather than accept them as a whole. Square tips. Practical. Inventor. Or Engineer. Desire for originality. Now, if they were knotted like mine. It would mean you were a fusspot-analyzing everything. In short, rather boring...yet oddly long winded."

Alfred bit his lip. Arthur went on self deprecating rants now and then too. He hoped it wasn't a hereditary trait.

"Joints not very discernible. So...smooth fingered. Means you make quick intuitive decisions. You can be impulsive. Still, the squared tips keep you from being overly fanciful. All of this also means...you're slow to forgive" Rhys noted "Our earlier lesson established that we're 7s."

"Yeah?"

"Seven's are stubborn by nature...and sensitive. Though we often don't appear to be. We don't want to appear so."

"..."

"So you're stubborn, sensitive, and hold grudges."

"And with good reason" he grumbled.

"Yes" Rhys murmured-gently reaching for Alfred's other hand and not reacting to the crumbs dusting it. He gave Alfred's hands a squeeze, "Because we're the logical sort. We don't draw our conclusions out of thin air. We bide our time and collect evidence. And then we accept. But once we make our judgment. By God, it is difficult swaying our thoughts then."

Alfred frowned and found he couldn't quite argue. But that's why they gathered so much data. So they'd make the right decision the first time. And move on.

 _It was best to be methodical as he cleaned the...injury...of mucus, pus, and blood._

 _President Madison and even General Jackson both offered to get him a glass eye. Since the empty socket bothered him so much._

 _They misunderstood._

 _It wasn't the socket. It was the patch that bothered him. He'd romanticized patches and piracy. The patch took up half his face. And it wasn't enough. Because his face really needed to be covered completely. Whatever beauty had been there, was hidden now. Like how the flowers from spring went missing in winter. His looks were gone._

 _A shame. He'd never been a particularly impressive conversationalist. And he was still an amateur violinist. And his ego wasn't recovered enough to play the joker of a court._

 _With his good eye he stared hard at the invitation perched on his vanity table. England was having yet another ball-celebrating some conquest or other._

 _The U.S. Government was urging him to at least appear in the United Kingdom for a day or two-he did NOT have to attend the festivities. They just...couldn't afford to keep ignoring England's requests to see him. The Empire was too powerful to risk displeasing. And he was already starting to make threats that he wouldn't entertain any more business overtures if America didn't present them personally._

 _Not to mention there was talk that technological as well as agricultural advances were being made and they were hopeful that America could somehow coax England into sharing them...and maybe relaxing his damned Corn Laws. They were of the belief that doctoring Anglo-American relations would speed Alfred's recovery._

 _And if he did go...it would be an insult not to attend the ball._

 _They were trying to back him into a corner. Force him into it. Into more social interactions._

 _A ball._

 _As if being forced to meet with Texas in his present state hadn't been humiliating enough..._

 _No._

 _What could he do at a ball? He had nothing particularly clever or charming to say. And while that was alright before because he was at least pleasant to look at, if not to listen to...now…_

 _Now his limbs weren't even moving quite right. He couldn't even manage a dance should he find a partner willing to ignore all else._

 _Ruined._

 _A glass eye would probably help lessen the obvious but...he turned the offers down-figuring that if he'd had a leg grow back. It wasn't unreasonable to believe his eye could grow back too. If he was patient._

 _It was just a wound. Wounds healed...with time. Nations healed with time...and maybe just a bit of denial._

 _He was a soldier wounded as the result of a war. Not a son that had been disfigured on his father's orders...with his father's blessing._

 _Because he didn't have a father. Arthur had died. Died during the War of Independence and the news just finally reached him in 1814 with a shot to the face._

 _And it was better that way._

 _For too long he'd been searching for his father-agonizing over where he'd gone and the strange wrathful ghost that seemed to have his likeness...and who loved him...no more._

 _Alfred had wanted an answer; he got it._

Rhys squeezed his hands.

 _No chwb._

And a memory that...wasn't his own...flickered in front of his eyes.

" _I don't understand. What was Alistair thinking? Letting him out of bed?" Arthur paced around the four poster as he motioned to a prone, unconscious Alfred on the bed "Him, I understand. He was delirious. Like the doctor warned. What's Alistair's excuse? The sodding idiot. A walk. A walk indeed?! At this time of year? In this weather? I made myself very clear: he was to be confined to his quarters for his own sake. Just look at him. Just look."_

 _Arthur sat down in a fine chair, beside the sickly teenager while Rhys remained standing._

That disastrous 1800s visit-nothing like whooping cough and pneumonia to utterly ruin any trip.

" _Reckless fool" Arthur growled as he dipped a strip of cloth into a bowl of water "Staying at such an inn. I visited it. Not long after he first fell ill and we had him brought here. Mathieu described it for me. Upon visiting it, I find he was generous in his descriptions" Arthur caught Rhy's eye. "Place is a deathtrap. Vermin. Pestilence. Most unsuitable."_

It was all Alfred could afford.

" _And that's not even touching on the characters running that establishment. Alfred's very impressionable-he shouldn't be placed with such people. They exploit his nature. Did you know they'd already had him fix their roof? And didn't reduce the cost of his expenses in return? Had the audacity to be angry he left early. Tried to extort money from me when they learned we had a connection."_

" _I take it from your visage. You made your thoughts known to them" Rhys replied._

" _Indeed" the Briton smirked. "Indeed." He wrung the cloth out and began sponging the teenaged Alfred's face and neck. "Wrote his government as well. Apparently, they paid his fare for the ship. And left the rest of the costs on him. Trying to shirk responsibility for his troubles now. That it was Alfred's own choice to choose such lodgings. Not a choice at all; they didn't provide him funds."_

" _Unfortunate."_

" _Ridiculous. They'll never shake that image of peasantry if they can't even allot funds to make their nation presentable. Just look at him. Should've seen the threadbare nightshirt he arrived in. Terrible. Worn through at the elbows. And don't get me started on his boots. Threw them out myself."_

" _How lucky...that he has your...tender sympathies" Rhys scoffed._

 _Arthur sniffed "My rulers and Parliament pride themselves on their Christian virtues." He mopped at Alfred's face with a detached benevolence-fingers careful not to touch peasant flesh. Only the cloth made contact. "It would be poor form to deny him our charity. I've made it known that for future ventures Alfred can lodge with us. We can afford a bit of pity."_

 _He set the cloth back into the bowl._

Damn. Alfred bit his bottom lip. Why the hell was he being shown this? It just confirmed every less than flattering thought he'd had about his old man whenever he did something "kind" for him.

Pity.

Goddamned snobby, faux pity. The worst kind!

He _hated_ it!

He'd gone out that day because he couldn't take being shut in among people who loathed him for existing. For daring to want his independence. Stupid Alistair! For stopping him. For convincing him to come back! And taking the blame for the whole damn thing!

He'd meant what he said to his uncle: that he'd rather die in the street as a free though unwanted dog, than linger like a cobweb in a forgotten corner!

" _It's time for Jet and Jake's Lessons" Rhys announced as he checked his pocket watch._

" _May they have a better propensity for them than_ _ **he**_ _ever did."_

Bastard. Did he have to twist the knife, even when Alfred was unconscious and couldn't appreciate it? Did it do something for his Superiority Complex?

 _Rhys pulled the door closed, made to walk away, paused and then knelt down to spy through the keyhole._

 _Arthur reached back into the bowl to get the cloth._

" _Damn fever" Arthur hissed moving out of the chair and onto the bed. "Break already. Break, damn you."_

 _He pulled the teenager into his arms and worked the linen ties at the boy's throat loose so he could better sponge Alfred's back and chest, "Break and leave him be."_

 _Rhys watched his brother hold the boy close and rest his head against the teen's. His voice wavered: "Please. Please, get well._ _ **Please**_ _, Sweet."_

Their hands were wrenched apart.

Alfred gasped-startled at the abrupt loss of contact.

He blinked and stared dumbly at the new hand holding both of his. An iron signet ring…

He knew that hand…

Those shoulders…

His father wasn't facing him though...

"What in hell's name were you doing?!" Arthur demanded.

"Palm reading" Rhys answered. "I was reading Alfred. And it was only fair to let him read me in return."

"Do NOT lie to me."

"Alfred?" Rhys inquired-leaning around Arthur to make eye contact. Giving him the option of whether or not to disclose what they'd been...delving in.

Alfred sniffled, "I have long squared fingers and I'm...practical."

 _And because I'm practical...I'm slow to forgive. Because I don't like being put in vulnerable positions._

And a heart he'd already thought to be brought as low as it could...began to sink.

He couldn't release the grudge and the weight of it grew.

Being hurt...that way...changed everything…no...illuminated everything…

Healing up afterwards; that had been a pivotal moment in his life.

The reality of being a nation finally set in and his happy childhood of golden afternoons with Father in their field shattered like a window. And the snow just drifted in...

Maybe it was more than just being practical…

More than watching out for himself...

Because...even after seeing that...seeing Arthur care intensely about him...even fresh after their second clash…

It wasn't enough…

The ice was too hard...

For all of Arthur's love…

And all of Alfred's bravery…

It wasn't enough.

The ice had won.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or X-men. Or Old Yeller. Or Wonder Twins. Or the song: Deep In The Heart Of Texas.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Lines from Wendigo. Rye House Plot. Jacobites. In which Rhys goes back and forth between being legitimately better informed than everyone else...and being Captain Obvious...which kinda ruins his credibility. Alfred continues to unravel. Mathieu's between a rock and a hard place. England just wants his children to all get along. Reilley has no artistic talent. Texas is...displeased. And Scotland just wants to watch the telly.

 **An:** Thank you for your reviews! I appreciate your continued support and reread your reviews for inspiration! : DDD

 **Chapter 32: You Suck!**

* * *

Rhys barely withheld a sigh as Arthur's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

When Arthur gritted his teeth and searched Rhys's eyes, Rhys stared back warily. Unrepentantly. Because Alfred was entitled to some privacy. Particularly, when Rhys knew he hadn't meant for that memory to slip out like that.

It was good that Alfred shared it of course-it significantly impacted how Rhys would need to approach him. And it was interesting seeing a memory that had directly contributed to the aura of Alfred's delipidated estate.

Disillusionment.

For a dreamer that was a dangerous thing; he'd had a very idealized vision of what love was supposed to be like. America...Roanoke... had daydreamed his "water-father" into a hero of epic proportion and unbridled compassion.

And at first...

 _Rhys blinked as their company came upon his brother pacing the length of the hallway._

" _My Sweetling" Arthur cooed to the toddler nestled in the crook of his arm. With his free hand, he puppeted a little cloth rabbit doll and in a ridiculous voice bid: "O good morning to you, Alfie. Mwah" he made the rabbit kiss the babe's face "And good day. Mwah. And good night. Mwah. Mwah. Mwah."_

 _The babe giggled hysterically after each "kiss."_

 _Rhys flushed and spared a guarded glance to a less than enthusiastic James II. Naturally, he was infinitely more concerned with the Rye House Plot than the New World colony. And Arthur never quite forgave the royal heir for that._

At first...

 _Alfred watched in awe from under Reilley's seat as Arthur and Alistair sparred._

 _Eire had come to whinge about the Jacobites with his brothers. When discussion lasted from the morning on into the afternoon, they agreed to break and moved their chairs out into the courtyard to enjoy the sunshine. Arthur and Alistair decided it was a good time to have a match and keep their skills sharpened._

 _In that while, Alfred (eager to meet his "mystewious" Uncle Weilley) had escaped his nurse to stage his own introduction by his own design._

 _Reilley immediately took a liking to the brash little imp who demanded that he be allowed to seek shelter with him. Because all of this was far more interesting than learning from a dull tutor._

 _Arthur would've disapproved of his young son spying on him, since he didn't want Alfred demanding lessons in swordsmanship when he was so small…so very small, he sometimes hid himself under Alba's targe shield and pretended he was a "turtle."_

" _Daddy is…" he cleared his throat and tried to be more formal "_ _ **Father**_ _...he is the best and gweatest...at everything, isn't he?"_

" _Save cooking" Rhys scoffed._

" _Well…" Alfred bit his lip._

" _Not much talent with a bugle" Reilley shrugged._

" _Um…"_

" _I am the superior knitter."_

" _Well, aye I suppose tha's true. Among us, Rhys is the oldest dirt clod here, boyo."_

" _I would say that in a friendlier tone. Else, I shall send you naught for Yu-"_

" _A Yule without Rhys's knitting? Saints preserve-"_

" _...almost everything!" Alfred burst out sullenly._

 _When the fight ended, Reilley pretended to trip-effectively, distracting Alistair and Arthur by doubling them over in mirth at his "misfortune." Neither noticed him sweep Alfred under his cloak and smuggle him back into the castle and away from a possible scolding._

At first, Arthur fulfilled Alfred's expectations of a father. Arthur was his father, his mentor, his hero. But then…as the years passed...

" _Sometimes Father's heart is in his chest. Other times it's in his coin purse. We both know where it is right now._ "

It was...an astute observation-that couldn't be wholly confirmed or denied. Sometimes Arthur could afford to be gentle and sentimental and other times he couldn't.

And that all culminated in...

 _Rhys sighed for the upteenthtime as he stared down into his tankard. He hoped Mathieu didn't mind them going out for the night. The Fourth of July was always a pain in the arse for their household. And it really was best, that Rhys took him out and away. It was always better not to witness Arthur's bitter tantrums up close if one could avoid it._

" _And then he said...hic...hic...he said...You were so...big…great...whatever...hic...hic….I'm a...hic...I'm the bloody United King-Kingdom! I'm an Empire...great...even greater...NOW...even…little idgit. Little...stupid American idgit...bloody…ungrateful...child..." Arthur blubbered into his ale. "Used to be...so..._ _ **He**_ _said that...he actually said that!"_

And that was Alfred's evaluation of Arthur BEFORE their second war.

Before Alfred's cynicism towards Arthur increased tenfold.

Alfred needed to work through that.

He needed someone who could _help_ him work through that and…

Arthur wasn't the best candidate.

So much of Alfred's anger and hurt stemmed from Arthur's pettiness both real and imagined.

And while Arthur needed to be made aware of it...there were probably gentler methods than being shown Alfred's worst memories of him.

Arthur would be...horrified...to see himself twisted into some macabre bogeyman of malicious intent. Where he existed with the sole purpose of antagony. Any invitation he sent, a spiteful opportunity to show off how lowly Alfred's station was compared to the empire's. Any gift he bestowed, a well-wrapped insult.

No, he'd need a moment alone with his brother to gently, but firmly explain that Arthur could come in at the end...but…at the start…

"Er" Rhys blinked, taking in a red faced snarling Arthur.

It might be difficult...though...because...

He glanced back over at Alfred.

Arthur followed his glance and hurriedly pulled the child into his lap to fuss over him-shifting to block the boy from view...as if Rhys was performing an "evil eye" curse.

Yes, it would be highly difficult as Arthur was terribly possessive.

And very concerned…

"Arth-"

"Darlingheart, what's wrong?" Arthur beseeched the child.

"I'm...fine...I just...We were talking about Old Yeller. And it just...it always gets me a little..."

"I thought you were palm reading" Arthur replied flatly.

"Uhh…" the child twitched and hurriedly spat out "yup. We were...but it...came up."

"Old Yeller cropped up?" Arthur replied skeptically.

"Yes?"

"Alf-"

"He's a conversationalist like...hairdressers and...we...were talking to...talk…and..."

"Alfred" Arthur admonished.

Rhys carefully shifted to get a better view of them.

Arthur's eyebrows had knitted together and his frown seemed to reach a few millimeters more than usual-it added a surprising amount of age to his face.

"...I'm...I'm okay. Really. Eagle Scout's honor and..."

Arthur scoffed-taking the moment to gently thumb away the tears from Alfred's face.

Alfred's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he touched his cheeks, "Oh."

Arthur clutched the child to his chest, "... _please_...talk to me? What was that pillock doing?"

Rhys reached for his brother-setting a hand on his shoulder and even as one eyebrow twitched at the disparaging remark, Rhys mostly felt…

...pity…

It crashed in unexpectedly as he sensed how helpless his brother felt.

Arthur was smothering the boy. And yet…

Hazel eyes widened.

Now Rhys understood why: it was all he _could_ do…

On a primal level, Arthur's magic knew that something was off with his child.

And he was right.

Mam insisted that wellness could be induced if you were held against a heart that loved you true.

So that's what Arthur was doing!

Cach.

But that only really worked with illness and injury!

That wasn't going to work with...with... _this_...

When the other heart in question...Alfred's heart...had cracks in it-rendering it unable to hold onto the affection Arthur was giving.

It just...slipped away...prompting Arthur to try new desperate measures.

Now Rhys was a natural born problem solver, but even he knew when he had his work cut out for him.

Arthur pulled away from him and glared.

Rhys sighed, "You are...interrupting our lesson Arthur."

If death could result from a gaze...

Without another word, Arthur picked his son up and left the room.

"H-hey my...tarts" Alfred mumbled staring over Arthur's shoulder. He eyed his uncle, "Rhys promised…"

"I did promise!" Rhys called hastily climbing to his feet and grabbing the basket as his brother and nephew disappeared down the hall.

"...can have more brought up" Arthur muttered as he stormed off to their room.

"Arth-" he shut the bedroom door behind him.

Rhys opened it.

Arthur increased his pace-knowing he was being pursued.

"Arthur, wait. Alfred and I-"

Arthur power-walked until he was in Alfred's new room and closed the door again-and from the sound of it-set a chair under the doorknob.

"You always hated when I did that" Alfred noted-his voice muffled by the door.

Rhys sighed and knocked, "Arthur."

There was a ziiipping sound as a record player was set up and then old grainy opera music filtered through.

Olivia must've felt bad indeed if she was letting Arthur borrow her records for Alfred's sake.

"Arthur?"

The volume of the music increased.

Rhys's eyebrow twitched.

Alistair had his own variation of this when he was irritated with him. He would break out his bagpipes and every time Rhys opened his mouth to say something he'd play.

Rhys leaned against the door and slid down listening to _Dido and Aeneas_ on the U.S. Army field phonograph.

America had forgotten it. He'd lent it to Australia since music did wonders for morale. Silly Jet misplaced it and by the time it was discovered it had to be refurbished. Arthur had been meaning to return it for ages.

Or so he said.

Wales had the suspicion England had kept it deliberately. A reason to force a meeting if America went too long without interacting with him.

Nearly two hours and several records later, the door abruptly opened.

He fell back onto the hard floor, "Oompf."

Rhys bit back a curse as he pulled himself upright.

"Sorry Welches" Alfred winced and then sighed-throwing a furtive glance behind him.

He bit his lip, "I...I think Dad blew a fuse...in his brain."

Rhys blinked. _Clearly._

"We listened to music and read stories and he just sorta...he's sleeping now."

The child wandered over to the bed-pulling a quilt folded at the bottom and draping it over his father.

He carefully crept back over and whispered "He's real upset."

Rhys bit his tongue and swallowed a ' _You were "real upset" and it likely triggered him.'_

Alfred stepped over Rhys and snagged the basket-delighted that Rhys hadn't finished the tarts off.

He beckoned Rhys to follow him into the hall.

Once there he pointed a tart at him, "Now explain what the hell you did back there. You were in my mind and then I was in yours. I thought I could only do that with Arthur cuz he's my Dad and Osha cuz she's an X-men in disguise."

* * *

With his tongue between his teeth and his eyes narrowed in concentration, Reilley doodled on a notepad with a ballpoint pen.

"Don't give yourself an aneurism" Scot muttered from his spot on the couch.

Reilley took that heartfelt concern as an invitation to join him.

With their wards worn out and relaxing in their rooms, Arthur outside with the little ones, and Rhys...doing whatever it was he did in his spare time, Alistair and Rhys had a quiet moment to decompress in front of the telly.

He sat down, not reacting when Scotland moved the telly's remote further away.

"See? I'm the handsome stick figure on the right. And tha's you on the left in the skirt. And Alfieboy is the little one there."

"All these centuries...and you're still awful at drawing...at least add the plaid, man."

"Fine." He added lines and boxes to the skirt. "Alright, there-wait!"

Inspired, Reilley added a bagpipe.

Alistair nodded, "S'better. But it looks like I'm holding a great dead spider in me arms."

"Everyone's a critic. Anyways. Now, I know he likes to be outside. Arthur said to try and hold his lessons out in the garden."

He drew a square underneath their stick feet, "Tha's a picnic blanket. But...I dunno if that's good for runes and tarots."

He drew some sharp zigzags for grass and then a curlicue squiggle in the sky.

At Alistair's blank look, he explained "The dangers. Ya know...he's an amatuer. With Runes...if they're dropped in the grass, I'll have a devil's time trying to find 'em and a good wind could blow your tarots to God knows where."

"Tha's wind?" Alistair tapped the paper.

"Obviously. What else could it be? Doesn't rain bedsprings!"

"Don't worry about the tarots. I will instruct him on-"

"Yeh don't even like teaching. And tarots'll take a week at Alfie's pace. I can do some of the earlier bits and you can do the more advanced-"

"I don't want yeh teaching him tarots. I know you. You'll muck it up."

"Cuz there's an awful lot of cards. And he's gonna have to memorize 'em and learn all the mad kinds of patterns."

"Yer not listenin' to me."

"And I might just make him some coloring pages of the different ones and-"

"Stop talking."

"Whaddya think? I dunno if I should make one of 'The Lovers' though. But they are just starkers, it's not like they're actively do-"

Scotland ripped the notepad out of his hands and tossed it on the table, "You worry about runes. _**I'll**_ worry about tarots."

Before a violent argument could ensue, their phones vibrated with an incoming text.

"From...Rhys?" Reilley muttered.

Addressed to both of them.

They shared a curious glance.

Alistair blinked owlishly at the odd question and read aloud: "What can you add to a barrel that makes it lighter?"

"Oooh!" Reilley immediately typed back and hit send. "Ha! That was an easy one."

Scotland stared down at his phone, as North's text registered on the screen: _Hole._

"Dammit. Tha's right."

"Poor Scottie" Reilley shook his head in pity.

"Shut up."

"If only his wits were as quick as his sword."

Reilley eagerly typed back: _Now what do I win?_

 _Celtic Music Play Date with Alfred and myself._

 _Date: 12/19_

 _Time: 9:00pm_

 _Location: Nursery Room_

 _Bring Your Own Instrument_

"Wha? What? Can't have Celtic music without me" Alistair spat indignantly.

"No pipers need apply."

Alistair glared.

"Just reading between the lines, Deartháir."

* * *

England blearily came to as a hand timidly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Arth...Jerkland...are you...c-coming back?"

He stared first at Sealand and then to the racket the child was holding.

Racket.

Ack!

That was right!

He'd been outside playing a game of badminton with Wy and Sealand-letting the youngsters double team him when...

He experienced an all encompassing icy feeling of drowning that...that wasn't his own.

The minute he realized that and focused in on it-dread flooded his system and it turned to panic as he rushed into the house following it to its source.

Mint met up with him on the staircase, and anxiously led him straight over to their newly renovated U rated movie room-insisting that Alfred wasn't alright and needed him.

Sure enough, as he approached, he heard the soft sound of a child weeping…

...and just like that he was seeing red.

Mint took one look at him and wisely flew off for the time being.

"Are you alright?" Sealand asked, blue eyes watching him warily.

"Y-yes. I just...never mind. I needed a rest apparently...I…"

America was nowhere to be found which made his heart sink.

"America needed you...didn't he?" the child frowned.

"He did. But now" if his absence was anything to go by "He doesn't." He swallowed, "Bit dark now, but...if you still want to finish that game before dinner lad..."

The boy's expression lightened considerably-confirming what Arthur feared; he still felt very threatened.

And Arthur conceded that he would need to take great care and pay attention to him when he could manage it or he risked adding fuel to the fires of Peter's envy. Needed to show him and the others that they weren't being maliciously ignored and Alfred elevated. And the sooner they felt secure in that, the easier it would be to explain that there would just be times that Alfred needed him.

Because he was hurting.

Because so much had changed for him.

Because he was fighting all that tooth and nail...and it had to be exhausting.

He'd find Alfred afterward and see if he could get the child to open up on what Rhys did to upset him.

They had just come down the staircase-England scolding Sealand for jumping the last five steps. He could've fallen and injured himself!

When they ran across Mathieu, Rhys, and Alfred...

Mathieu seemed simultaneously miffed and embarrassed.

Rhys was staring intensely at a vase on the other side of the room as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Alfred's complexion had lost all color and he was staring at Mathieu in horror.

Good God what happened now!?

"Good God man!" Alfred hissed. "What have you done?!"

Goodness. There was no mystery about who Alfred picked that up from. And his accent...he was deeply stressed.

Mathieu's eyes widened as he took notice of Arthur and Peter, "Um. Hello. I…"

Rhys sighed.

Mathieu shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Er...I just got off the phone with...well...we...we're going to have an uninvited guest."

Arthur blinked as he came to a stop just behind Alfred.

Peter leaned against him, set the top of the racket against the floor, and spun it like an awkward top. Far more interested in a game than whatever drama was unfolding before them.

Mathieu made an uncomfortable expression, "I...was on the phone with Texas...and apparently, he was completely unaware about last night. Alfred didn't...tell him-"

" _ **He**_ " Alfred pointed an accusing finger at his brother "Has ruined everything. Forever. Tornado Texas is gonna touch down and-"

At that moment his phone vibrated with a cheery melody. Alfred shook his head and whispered gravely, " _Deep in the Heart_ _of Texas_...It's a song of _**doom**_ now."

"Oh God. Oh god. No. Nope. Nope. Not answering."

It stopped.

And then it began vibrating again.

"Shitshitshit. Mattie. You did this. You bastard!"

"Alfred! Language!" Arthur hissed, clapping his hands over Peter's ears.

Alfred pulled the phone out of his pocket.

It stopped.

"C'mon Bro. Just leave a message. Text. Or-"

It rang again.

"There is no escape!" He cried out dramatically and then pasted on a big phony smile and accepted the call, "Hey Big Bro!"

" _Havin' a good time my ass!"_

Well then, with a voice that piercing, who needed a loudspeaker?

"Y-yeah. It's been really...interesting."

" _Is what Matt told me true?"_

Canada winced.

"Well...as Matt and I share a border and not a brain...and don't possess Wonder Twin-esque powers. I shall need you to clarify."

" _Some sick creep tried to drown you like a box of kittens?!"_

"...Define drown."

" _Define apology."_

"Tch. Why do I owe you an apology?"

" _Tch. Cuz you weren't gonna tell me. Were you?"_

"..."

" _Or you'd have called me last night when it happened. Or first thing this morning!"_

Alfred fidgeted as he felt everyone's eyes gravitate to him "...didn't wanna...make you worry...Tex."

" _You don't get to make that call Al!"_

The child's feathers ruffled indignantly, "...Oh well...I'm sooooo sorry, that I'm just sooooo awful that I just wanted you to be _**happy** _ with your Pap-"

" _NO! No! Don't you DARE pull the hero card on me! You put that card back in your wallet you Doodle Dandy! We do NOT accept that line o' credit here, cowpoke! I don't need your shielding."_

Alfred's cheeks puffed up, "..."

" _I'm on my way."_

The blond child breathed heavily through his nose, "..."

" _I AM on my way."_

"...I'll...see you then."

" _You will. I love you."_

"..."

" _..."_

"..."

" _..."_

"...I...I love you t-too," Alfred sniffled and put the phone back in his pocket.

"Al…" Mathieu approached him hesitantly.

"T-hanks a lot!" Alfred burst.

"I-I thought you would've told him already and I just didn't want him to think I had anything to do with-"

"Ya wanted to cover your ass" Alfred growled-gesturing to Mathieu's eyes "Didn't want Round 2. So you threw me under the bus!"

"No. Al. Please listen-"

"And now he's mad at me" the child's voice cracked. "Just what you wanted! So you get to be the good one there too!"

"No! Al-"

"You suck!" the American blurted.

"Alfred!?" Mathieu cried in dismay.

"Alfred!" England called.

"..." Rhys sighed.

The boy dashed away-nearly taking out a footman who'd come to investigate the noise.

Peter watched it all with wide eyes and gently tugged Arthur's hands away from his ears. He stared at Arthur, then Mathieu, then Rhys, and back to Arthur, "Aren't you…?"

"Alfred wants a moment alone" Rhys announced almost unnecessarily. As if the rest of them couldn't have grasped that from his vocal tone alone.

"Rhys" Arthur gritted out. Certain that the Welshman was largely to blame for Alfred's outburst. Poor thing could only take so much emotional strain.

Arthur longed to chew Rhys out but…

Peter was watching him closely.

"Can you let the staff know that we're expecting an additional member to our party?"

The Welshman nodded, "Of course."

"Mathieu? If you could ask Reilley to locate a suitable room for Texas? A suitable one. No tricks."

"Yes, sir."

Arthur sighed, "Peter. I think..."

If he canceled, immediately after giving his word. The boy would never trust him. Damnation.

Alfred had to wait.

"We'll just be able to have a quick game, poppet. Alfred will probably have calmed down by then. And I'll need to speak with him to make sure he's alright and-"

He blinked at the vacant space beside him. There was just a racket leaning against a statue's pedestal.

"Peter?"

He glanced around and noticed Peter trotting off in the direction Alfred disappeared to.

* * *

Texas had the armrests of his airplane seat in a deathgrip.

He ground his teeth and when the kid behind him kicked his seat again...

He made his displeasure known.

The woman stared at him with huge eyes as he told her to control her child or he would.

Al would say he gave them "The Crazy Eye."

The look he gave banditos when he asked them if they really intended to fight their way out rather than turn themselves into the law.

Damn…

Al...

It was one thing for Al to want some privacy now and then.

But this…

This was too far!

Keeping secrets like this from him!

No Sir.

Not alright.

They were brothers! They were s'posed to tell each other stuff!

Al was the one who valued that the most! And Texas joined the bandwagon not long after.

 _It was hot._

 _Too damned hot for anything to be enjoyable._

 _Patches of sweat stains grew and deepened as the sun arced through the sky._

 _The saloon offered shade from the blistering sun and little else. It was humid heat-so it pressed in ruthlessly. Tex's clothes clung uncomfortably and he knew well that there there'd be no reprieve possible that day save an alcohol soaked intervention._

 _From the looks of it, America had beaten him to the gates of oblivion._

 _The bartender had just cut Alfred off because the American was so drunk he was rambling._

" _I wish...I wish I had a brother" Alfred admitted playing with one of the straps of his suspenders-strumming it like a guitar string as he stared at Texas._

" _We_ _ **are**_ _brothers" Texas replied shortly-ordering another shot of whiskey._

 _He was either an idiot and forgot that fact. Or was inarticulately wishing for more._

 _Which made him a complete and total and unforgivable moron._

 _In Tex's experience, siblings (brothers, sisters, whatever) were natural born pains...no_ _ **thorns**_ _...in the ass. You'd never catch him wishing for any more. He had his hands full, thank you._

 _To add insult to injury, his government was pressuring him to make nice with the United States-which made old jealousies flare up. It just didn't seem fair that America shook off England while Texas couldn't pry Mexico's sharp nails off._

 _And he knew he needed an ally like Al but...he hated having his arm twisted behind his back on account of anything._

 _Not that Alfred was rude exactly…and damn could he drink and play cards...couldn't believe he'd lost his glasses to him in a bet…_

 _Unfortunately, he'd sometimes pass out for hours on end and Texas had to haul him out of the bar._

 _They usually only spent a few weeks together...rather than several months. And the longer he remained in Al's presence, the more obvious it became that he was...a prudish simple sort of man who idolized old knight stories and fairy tales and shit. Like some stupid, hopeful little child and not the head of a steadily growing nation._

 _Al didn't like shows with dancing girls, pretty much memorized his Bible, only wanted to play billiards if Tex was playing, and just followed Tex everywhere like a puppy and it was irritating because he often made this disapproving face whenever Tex didn't act "proper" and-_

 _Dios! The piano player was terrible. He had half a mind to throw his glass at him. But he didn't want to get banned. This saloon was one of his favorites. He was a regular here. And Alfred would be scandalized. He'd get some long winded speech about the importance of virtue and patience and all that._

" _No._ _ **Brothers**_ " _Alfred insisted "I...hic...I always wanted a_ _ **real**_ _brother."_

 _He raised an eyebrow. There was Canada, himself, England, probably some tribes too. Idiota._

" _And I could just tell you anything...anything at all" Alfred laid his head on the counter "...and you would care…"_

 _His drink turned to sawdust in his mouth._

 _It wasn't an accusation._

 _The tone was soft...sounded like some goddamn daydream spoken aloud by accident._

 _The bartender's jaw dropped when Tex stepped away, slung his brother's arm over his shoulder to support his weight, and made to leave._

 _Several folks got in his way._

 _Leaving early? Didn't he want to hear Lita sing?_

 _He pushed past-heading back to their rundown hotel room. Al got sick twice on their way there. Hell, he probably could've thrown up inside and no one would've noticed._

 _Everything seemed dirty and broken and cheap as he gently shoved Alfred onto the hay stuffed mattress they were sharing. He hadn't felt like spending for a room with two beds._

 _A big ol rat scurried along the floor and away from them._

 _He stared hard at it and shame started to creep in._

 _Alfred patted his knee, "Now, now. C-could be worse. Could be roaches."_

 _Said so sincerely that Tex knew he had stayed in an infested room before._

 _And the unspoken implication that he could foreseeably see Tex leaving him in one..._

 _Yeah, Tex had certain ideas about siblings._

 _America did too._

 _And he remembered the eye patch the other nation had worn a few decades ago._

 _Yeah…_

 _He'd had nothing to do with that, but…_

 _He looked around the room again, thought about the past few weeks, the places he'd taken Al. Things...he'd said to him as he steadily grew less enchanted with having a younger brother around._

 _Alfred knew damn well he was an uninvited guest and-and-and was putting up with it for the sake of his own government._

 _Because they'd probably give him the same speech about the importance of trade and diplomacy._

 _It was starting to become apparent why Alfred drank and slept so much._

 _He was trying to escape him..._

 _While preserving diplomatic ties._

 _Texas sat down heavily beside him. He took his hat and pitched it on one of the bed's remaining posts like a horseshoe._

 _Alfred gave a cheer and clumsy applause for the feat._

 _Tex stretched out-feeling every lump of the mattress-aware of the gaps in the wood and the the cracks in the window glass._

 _He turned on his side to face Alfred._

" _So...so...what did you want to tell me?"_

 _Sad blue eyes crinkled in a smile and he said nothing._

Texas crossed his arms.

He worked real hard after that-to take note of Alfred's interests, to be more considerate, to treat Al more along the lines that Alfred treated Tex when he was the guest.

Until…

Until he realized that Alfred's way, while often more respectful than his was...cold, polite, and distant.

He was an awful lot like the castles he talked about when he recounted stories of King Arthur and the Round Table.

Far and away and fortified.

And it was hard getting him to be present in a moment where innocent lives weren't in danger and outlaws didn't have to be tracked down.

In those intense, charged scenarios he came alive-bursting out with unbridled enthusiasm; all bright eyed, passionate about justice, guns blazing! He was a riot to be with then!

And once the moment was over the lid on the box sealed up tight again. And he gave very little of himself in anything. Or at least it seemed that way.

Tex invested even more in their relationship following the Mexican-American War. America took a shot Mexico intended for Texas.

And he knew then that there was a very caring, passionate person underneath-if he could just hoist him out of the rubble.

And it was hard. For a while it seemed like Tex just...failed at everything.

He tried to be better, kinder,...dammit...he couldn't think of another word... _ **better**_. Treated Molossia with more patience than the kid really deserved. Accompanied Al to church even when the pastor had a speech impediment.

And just when he was losing hope in Al's government and Al himself...

 _It was a cold January._

 _Texas fidgeted in his frock coat as he entered the Capitol building._

 _Alfred's note had said to meet him there rather than the White House._

 _He took a deep breath; going over in his mind for the upteenth time about what to say._

 _He recognized that Alfred and his government were different entities and the troubles he faced with one didn't necessarily mean he had trouble with the other._

 _And Al had always seemed respectful that Tex had been his own Republic and was owed the right to his own opinions._

 _His people needed him to secede._

 _There was no need for them to be unfriendly with each other._

 _There'd still be plenty of trade between them._

 _Would probably work out well-Al didn't seem that attached to him anyway. There'd been plenty of visits Al had cut short on account of White House and military summons. And Texas didn't play second fiddle very well._

 _The musty smell of wet wood made his nose wrinkle. There was a leak in here somewhere. He could sense it._

 _He idly walked down the aisle of the empty House chamber-eyes catching on the star spangled flag and any hope that his secession would be bloodless faded._

 _His stomach clenched-they were going to go to war with each other._

 _He knew it._

 _Al knew it._

 _He hastily checked to make sure his guns were loaded and ready._

 _Damn!_

 _He'd been lured out here, hadn't he?_

 _High nooned!_

 _In his agitation, he didn't realize the laces on both of his shoes had come undone and he tripped badly-crashing to the ground._

" _Damnation" Alfred muttered as he approached. "I had it all planned out. But it would just be...nevermind..."_

 _Tex's heart pounded. Right behind him!_

 _He scuttled around to face him, "Ack! Wait! Just a minute!"_

 _He hastily began tying bows._

" _Oh well" there was a rustle of paper and Alfred set several pieces of parchment on an empty seat. "You always say you don't like things that are too fancy."_

 _His shadow loomed over the brunette. And there was a dangerously blank expression on Alfred's face._

" _Uh...jus'...just gimme another minute. I-"_

 _Al knelt and hugged him._

 _Hard._

 _Pinning his arms to his sides._

 _It wasn't the drunken "You're my best friend" hug, that they tended to give each other after too many rounds._

 _It wasn't even the "You lost a lot of good men today" hug after a disastrous battle._

 _No...this..._

" _They're going to tell you bad things...about me" Alfred spoke quietly, calmly, kindly. "All of them. People on your side, people on mine. That's how war works. How it keeps us apart. But I don't want them speaking for me. Which is why I brought you here, because I want you to know...no matter what anyone else tells you...I wouldn't trade a single moment we had together...even the bad ones...for anything…"_

 _Alfred's arms slowly released him and he clipped something onto Texas' vest._

 _Dumbly, Tex stared down._

 _There._

 _Hooked on._

 _Were his glasses._

" _Al."_

 _He watched in morbid fascination as a droplet splatted on a lens and dripped down._

 _And just like that Alfred was already up on his feet and heading out of the chamber._

" _We both know you're a terrible shot without them."_

 _It was said cheerfully enough that a grin ought to accompany it...the way Alfred makes stupid cheery comments about the weather..._

 _But…_

 _He touched the lens…_

 _But…_

 _But...he doesn't face him as he says it._

 _And they both know why._

 _And he just walked faster when Tex begged for him to_ _ **stay**_ _._

Yup.

The little jerk tried to walk away.

Tried to get his officials to slow Tex down while he got into a stage coach and tried to make an escape!

Tex did the only rational thing he could think of:

He fought those men off, stole a horse and he ran that fucking stage coach DOWN!

Yup.

Broke the door's window and hoisted himself through.

Because Al wasn't allowed to just give up on him dammit! To just say his piece, clear his conscience, and leave like the dramatic ending of a dime novel! Hell no! Tex had plenty to say that day too!

And so they hashed it out...and the stage coach driver was a good sport.

And they made a promise to be more open with each other. Them. Not the driver...though he did say he wished them the best.

It was easy for Tex, cuz he was pretty much an open book to start with, but Al...especially following the war...when he'd needed a lot of help to recover and Tex refused to let him feel bad about it...gradually opened up.

There was no way Texas was gonna sit back and let him regress.

And there sure as hell was no way he was gonna twiddle his thumbs and let some jerkass get away with harming his little brother.

Yeah, guns were illegal in the U.K.

But if he needed to break into a museum to deliver some well-deserved justice, so be it!

* * *

Read & Review Please : D


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Little Big Planet. Or Spiderman. Or Monty Python. Or Cluedo. Or David Copperfield. Or Harry Potter-Care of Magical Creatures.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Some more magical creature encounters...FINALLY. Which is what everyone and their grandma has been waiting for! XD Family Fluff. Family Drama. Family Chaos. And the plot rolls on!

 **An:** O Transfer Orientation. How you eat my hours and enthusiasm...with your demands for residency units. Thank you for your reviews and for your continued support-it helps revitalize me...really, it does! : DDD I read through your reviews after work these past few days and went...yeah...I can knock this chap out. I CAN. And here we are:

 **Chapter 33: Horror Movie Golden Rule**

* * *

Alfred's teeth chattered and he crossed his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

Everybody kept droning on about how warm it was for the time of year. Tch, there wasn't any snow, but it still felt pretty friggin' cold to him!

He'd been hiding in the garden shed for the better part of the evening playing games on his phone. But it was nearing 10 o'clock and his phone was running out of juice. Which meant...he had to make the walk of shame back to the house where his charger was.

If he was bigger, he could've scaled the building using the garden trellises everywhere but alas…he didn't wanna risk injuring himself.

Arthur would really flip if Alfred managed to break a bone during his stay here.

And flying was out.

He just couldn't figure out how his powers worked. And like when Spiderman was learning his webslinging skillls...you...kinda wanted to be alone when you were figuring out the baby steps.

His family could help him practice after he got the basics down.

On the cliff, it had felt so natural and easy. But now…

He pushed the door open and began shuffling along-gritting his teeth as a cold wind swept over the landscape.

Texas texted him when the plane landed.

His brother was so ticked off.

Geez, just when Alfred thought things couldn't get worse.

His bottom lip trembled.

Dammit, he thought he was over this already. He roughly rubbed at his eye.

It just...hurt...having Tex mad at him.

Stupid Mattie! Getting their brother involved and trying to make himself look better.

Unbidden, less than happy childhood memories floated up; when Mattie would commandeer Arthur's lap or take up Alfred's spot on Arthur's bed by bringing his polar bear with him.

It wasn't enough to steal Arthur away, now he wanted Tex too!

He stopped and sniffled.

Dammit Al, pull yourself together! Geez! If he didn't know better, he'd say he wanted to dredge up the past! To bawl and brawl over things that had happened so long ago they were better off forgotten under ice.

He was just passing the swings when...he blinked.

Pilot.

Sitting totally unassuming in the middle of the plastic seat. And if that weren't weird enough there was a wind up key placed beside him. Hadn't Arthur taken that key...or one that looked exactly like it?

He glanced around.

Who?

Who kept moving stuff?

The swing had been empty when he first came out here.

He glared hard at the house-somebody in there was trying real hard to freak him out and it was pissing him off.

He turned back around and marched over to Pilot and...the key was gone…

W...T...F….?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Music began to play.

He looked up, mouth slightly agape.

A music box-like melody….was emanating from somewhere in the woods surrounding the estate.

He licked his lips nervously-kay...maybe he should just dial Arthur and-

Crap! His phone died.

The music dwindled away.

He looked back up and there was...something there...in the forest…

There was a cranking sound of a key being wound up.

"Master Alfred?!" an incredulous voice boomed from behind him.

"EEP!" He tripped and fell on his butt.

"My goodness, dear boy are you alright?" Mr. Grey hurried over and helped him up.

"Dude! There's-"

"I thought that was you out here. Whatever have you been up to? You missed dinner!"

"In the woods!"

"You went into the woods at this hour? Are you mad?"

"No, I didn't go but there's something! Something creepy-"

"It's much too late and far too cold for you to be out here and-where are your gloves?! You're going to be an icicle!"

He was unceremoniously hoisted up into the man's arms.

"There was a key! And then it was gone! And then creepy music in the forest and-and-and!"

Mr. Grey sighed heavily.

Great. He really did sound like a crazy person, didn't he? He felt another smidgen of persistent guilt over how he'd always teased Arthur over this sorta stuff.

Now that the shoe was on the other foot and nobody believed _him_...

Mr. Grey sighed "Yes, the fairies have been especially bold as of late."

Wait...what?

"You...you can...see?" Alfred's jaw dropped.

"Well of course" he replied, as if taken by surprise. "Most of us are hired for Kirkland Manor specifically for that talent. My family has been associated with the Kirklands for centuries."

"And that's...good?" Alfred tried to sound polite; though the idea of a family being locked into service for generations made his insides squirm.

"Indeed. You do not know what a relief it is, to have this ability labeled an attribute rather than an affliction. In other lines of work, it's essential to try and ignore it. Which works about as well as you might expect."

A surge of sympathy rushed through him at the thought of having his cubicle overrun with mythical beings and having to act like nothing was odd as talked with coworkers.

He'd really bagged on his old man over the years...he might even have to apologize.

Mrs. Sutton seemed a bit surprised at the sight of them as they entered through a side door of the staff area of the house.

Mr. Grey gave a nod and set Alfred on his feet.

"I think some hot soup would serve young Master Alfred well, if you could let Mrs. O'Hannagain know. He hasn't eaten in hours and has frozen himself half to death."

Alfred flushed a bit at the scolding tone. And here he'd only thought ol' George Washington could do that.

The elder man took him by the hand and they walked back into the main and house and over to where Alfred could hear someone practicing their violin.

The door was open and they quietly entered.

Arthur was studying sheets on a music stand-soft mutters of "Blast" punctuated each time he missed a note.

During a lull, Mr. Grey cleared his throat, "Sir?"

Arthur startled to attention and immediately set down his instrument, "Alfred!"

He hurried over and maybe it was the concerned look on his face but Alfred all but raced into those open arms, "Therearecreepyfairieswhomovemystuffheretoo!"

"What?"

"Fairies, sir. They seem to have their sights set on poor Alfred."

"Yeah and Dad! Dad! Dad!" he tugged on the man's shirt "They play creepy twinkle-kind-music in the woods and-"

Arthur groaned in irritation

Alfred glanced up uncertainly.

"Just when I thought I made myself perfectly clear."

The hard edge of his father's voice made his heartbeat spike and he instinctively tried to take a step back.

Arthur's grasp tightened.

He stared back up as Arthur glanced down-expression puzzled.

His father blinked and knelt down-tone softening, "I wrote to both kingdoms specifically asking that they not bother you. They're...they must figure that...if you were to go investigate the music and decide you wanted to dance, that they wouldn't be breaking their word to me."

He pulled Alfred into another hug, "I'm sorry they frightened you, Love. Here," he worked his signet ring off his pinkie. "You can hold onto this for now. Alright, poppet? It's iron. It'll help dissuade them."

"...all this to...dance with me?"

"For Yule."

Alfred stared, "Ohhhh...does this have to do with Elfrawirt, too?"

Arthur chuckled, "Yes, dear they're trying to lure you into an Elferingewort."

"Elf-ring-wo-"

"Yes dear, a fairy ring, like the one we saw at the park." Arthur pet his hair gently, "Next year we can visit them, if you're up to it." Arthur frowned-cupping the boy's face with one hand, "Goodness you're chilled. You've been outside this whole time, haven't you?" He pulled his sweater off and set it on Alfred's shoulders.

Alfred chewed his lip.

"They're making him some soup now" Mr. Grey asserted.

"Perfect. Thank you. Come darling heart, you can give me a remedial music lesson while we wait."

* * *

England lowered the volume of the telly.

Warm and fed and wrapped in a soft blanket, Alfred was fighting sleep as they watched Monty Python.

He leaned heavily into Arthur's side for a time before conceding defeat and laying his head in Arthur's lap.

He massaged the child's scalp and watched large blue eyes become steadily more lethargic.

Dark blond lashes fluttered close and breaths evened out as the episode continued.

Alfred never had much of an affinity for train humor.

He swept the fringe out of Alfred's face.

The evening had been quite a trial.

If it had been difficult to ignore Alfred's absence at tea, it was impossible not to openly stare at his empty chair during dinner.

England did his best to engage his guests as he methodically chewed through his meal, but…his concern was obvious.

Jet offered three times to hunt down "some star spangled glory."

Earlier, England and Sealand had searched the gardens extensively but...when Alfred didn't want to be found…he wasn't.

Arthur had spent the following hours praying the boy wasn't on the roof.

He used to do that when he and Canada were competing with one another on finding the best hiding spot.

Hell…he swore he'd seen the lad do it more than once at Windsor Castle during various visits.

The young nation always laughed it off as England imagining things.

God, it made his insides twist with worry.

Even worse, it seemed that the boy instinctively knew how to flatten his magic signature.

Reilley admitted that at present he couldn't sense him at all. And while Rhys assured he was still there…he wasn't being very helpful.

 _Rhys frowned "I can find him if need be. If he doesn't return to the house before midnight, I shall seek him out. But Arthur...he needs time and privacy as much as he needs counseling. You do him no good by disresp-"_

" _He's off getting himself ill by heartache or cold and you're worrying over trivialities like privacy!"_

" _..."_

" _Rhys!"_

" _He's not sleeping, so he won't freeze if that's what you're fretting over."_

" _Rhys!"_

" _I'll fetch him by midnight, if he doesn't return on his own accord."_

Rhys had formed an empathic connection. How it happened….

Why Alfred allowed it… _if_ he allowed it...

Remained a mystery.

And when he demanded explanations over Alfred's hurt feelings earlier, Rhys only admitted that Alfred shared a few personal things that distressed him.

Which only begged more pestering because those "few things" were things Alfred ought to be telling him! Because Arthur had a much more compassionate ear and could be counted on to comfort the child.

When he pressed for more answers, Rhys stonewalled him-choosing to play cribbage with Alistair and tuning him out.

It was about then that Canada approached him after dinner with misaimed apologies.

" _I'm sorry for the extra trouble. I really thought, he'd have told Texas what was going on and I can't believe Texas would just invite hims-"_

 _Arthur frowned and held up a hand to interrupt, "I can add another guest. What I can't have are feuds under this roof!"_

 _Mathieu shifted uncomfortably, "I don't...want Alfred to be angry with me."_

" _Then take initiative boy. Do something about it."_

" _I just...when I see you two…sometimes I guess I just feel j-"_

" _Jerkland!" Sealand crowed-latching onto his arm. "Hong Kong and I wanna kick your butt at Cluedo!"_

" _Joy."_

Perhaps he'd been a bit too harsh with Mathieu, but considering that Santa Gift stunt he'd pulled...

Plus his lack of outrage over the boat incident! And the fact he hadn't approached him or one of his brothers to assist in finding the perpetrator responsible…

Well...

It all made England rather reluctant to take him for his word.

If Mathieu wanted things to be reconciled, Mathieu needed to command the situation.

On reflection, Arthur noticed rather bitterly that he'd often facilitated apologies between the children-usually prompting Alfred to apologize for whatever troubles they were having.

Mathieu had just always been so quiet and mild; it was hard to imagine he had much of a hand in whatever conflict they were involved in.

That was Arthur's mistake; it took two people to argue.

And Mathieu was revealing just how obstinate he could be.

"...Daddy…"

"Hm?" He looked down.

Alfred's eyelids moved as he dreamed. Arthur half hoped to hear some mild rebuke that he wasn't holding his violin quite right. Alfred had taken quite a bit of pride in getting the opportunity to instruct his father on something. Which Arthur supposed helped Alfred's ego; all of his magic lessons kept reinforcing that Alfred was very much a beginner and he had a feeling that was wearing on the boy. He'd need to find things Alfred could be "best" at.

"...dad…."

"Yes pet, Daddy's here."

The child curled closer.

"Daaaad."

He turned the television off.

"What is it, Sweetling?"

"Don't let the monsters get me" he mumbled.

"Never."

The child sighed in relief-body relaxing even more.

Taking that as a cue, he carefully cradled the boy and stood up.

Tomorrow, he'd personally stake iron around the estate-harass Alistair into setting a few traps and hexes.

He turned the lights off and exited the room quietly.

He was almost to their rooms when the sound of spurs reached his ears along with the heavy rolling wheels of an overpacked suitcase.

There, dragging embarrassingly garish luggage behind him, was Texas.

At Tex's growl, Arthur's arms reflexively tightened around the sleeping bundle.

The Texan sighed, "He waited up, didn't he? I texted him and specifically said he didn't have to."

Arthur blinked.

"He alright?"

"..."

"Geez...he freaked out, didn't he?" Texas readjusted his hat as he stared hard at his brother. Finally he relented and mumbled, "The hell do you think I'm gonna do anyway...on your side dumbass."

Arthur frowned and moved past him, "Language."

Texas ignored the light rebuke and followed, "So y'all are stationed here too? I didn't think you and Reilley, y'know considering yer history, would want rooms so close to each other."

The lad said it all in a ' _See? I know some World History! Ha!'_ tone.

"We don't" Arthur replied.

The boy blinked, went quiet, and finally stopped mid step as he figured it out.

"...Aww, dammit. Reilley's wing isn't this way, is it?"

Arthur gave a prim "No" and closed his bedroom door.

As he kicked his shoes off and carefully removed Alfred's trainers, he heard a muffled curse from outside the room and:

"...I hate having to ask for directions."

* * *

Alfred kicked his legs-watching Texas pace around the kiddie movie room.

"Papi-"

His brother had caused quite a stir earlier during breakfast-standing up while everyone was eating.

" _I got something to say. 'Scuse me. Excuse me y'all."_

 _Alfred felt a prickle of dread. He'd thought the morning was going well-way more relaxed and informal than the lunch meal he'd endured the previous day._

" _Ahem!"_

 _Chatter continued as everybody spread marmalade and butter on their toast or cut up pancakes._

 _Arthur was reading the newspaper. Hong Kong and Barbados were having some serious conversation about Adolphe Adam. Seychelles, Australia, and Canada were struggling with each other over who got to use the maple syrup first. New Zealand was taking pictures of their maple war. Sealand was launching grapes across the table at Wy. Reilley was pretending to be a walrus and using bacon as tusks and Alistair (who'd been drinking) now had milk coming out his nose. There was some kind of bet going on there, because Rhys, Jamaica, and Alistair handed money over to Reilley._

 _Arthur noticed Tex first and picked up a spoon and a glass-intending to ring it all Hollywood dramatic when-_

" _OYE! You snobby sonsuvbitches!"_

 _England's method just wasn't needed._

 _Yup. Tex definitely got everyone's attention...in his own special way._

 _A footman nearly dropped a pitcher of orange juice._

 _Sealand stared at Texas in awe._

" _Any more crap done against my baby brother and I'll take ya outback like a rabid dog" he then mimicked holding a shotgun and made a cocking sound effect._

 _Stunned wasn't a strong enough word for everybody's expression._

 _Personally, Alfred was caught between being impressed, mortified, and flattered. Tex always knew how to make a stand! And it was touching that Tex cared about him so much and he didn't give a damn who knew it._

" _So play nice or else. Thank you" and he sat back down and started complaining about the 'weird European bacon' to Alfred..like he hadn't just threatened everybody and their grandma._

 _Thankfully, Reilley reprised his role as walrus and the tense atmosphere melted away_.

Not long after, while everyone else was outside playing ring toss (or...quoits?...weird) or strolling the grounds for fresh air, Alfred made to show Texas his cool room.

Then Arthur asked what Spain had to say regarding Texas' departure.

His brother went very pale and meekly asked where he could make a private phone call.

But it was too late.

Scotland had entered the entryway with an irritated expression and a phone.

He spoke into it with an ominous voice, _"Ya wanna know where yer whelp is? Ask."_

Texas swallowed nervously as he took the phone.

Two hours later and Tex was still trying to end it.

"Papi-" he tried again. "¡PAPI! Los siento mucho...mmhmm. Hmm."

He winced at whatever the response was, "Dammit Papi! I just forgot, okay? I...yes...yes, I...forgot that I was...staying with you…. Cuz...cuz...well, clearly I've...no...no...I ain't hiding from her. Er...yeah...So I just...packed up and went. Yeah, I used the window. Cuz everybody was sleeping! And the floor over by the door creaks. Being considerate. Look. You broke _into_ our house. I just...broke _outta_ yours. No. No. No, Papi. It's not personal."

He tossed his hat to Alfred and ran a hand through his hair.

He flopped onto the couch, "I ain't mad at you! ¿Que? Don't say that. Al needed me. No. I mean, yeah. Look. I...oh yeah? Yeah!? Fine! Be mad at me! That's what you want! If that's what you want, I hope you're happy!"

He ended the call and set the phone on the table.

Alfred looked at him in concern.

"I really just need a break" Texas replied-not sounding upset in the least. "He's gonna make me go hoarse."

Tex rubbed his throat.

Alfred stared at him in disbelief.

Texas shrugged, "Let him stew a bit. I'll call back later, after I've had a throat lozenge and he's had time to cool off."

The cordless phone rang.

"Nope."

Then Tex's cell rang with La Marche Real.

He didn't answer and turned it to silent.

"Soooo, show me around. I wanna see this creepy room they put you in."

So Alfred showed him.

"Hot damn" Tex growled kicking a boot against a gargoyle. "And you managed to fall asleep here? How many sleeping pills did that take?"

Alfred shrugged, "I started reading over the notes Arthur took for me in a meeting waaaay back in November. Dude, he's like a stenographer."

There was a soft knock on the doorframe.

Alfred's mood plummeted at the knocker's identity.

"Hey Matt" Tex greeted.

"I...I didn't get an opportunity to say hello properly-" the Canadian sheepishly held out a hand.

Tex made to move forward to take it, but Alfred gripped his favored brother's leg hard.

"Al?"

"He's trying to make nicey nice! Back fiend!"

Tex sighed, crossed his arms, and stood firm, "Whatcha want Matt?"

Mathieu stared hard at Alfred who glared back.

That's right! Al had his number! He wasn't gonna be tricked again!

"I see you're not angry" Mathieu noted.

"O I'm plenty angry" Texas refuted "Some fucker tried to drown him!"

"W-well, yes. Of course! I just-yesterday...Alfred was under the impression you were going to be angry with him for his lack of disclosu-"

"Well he ain't just whistling Dixie. I am mad."

Alfred bit his lip. He'd been hoping they could go into that in a little while. When Tex was settled in, when Alfred could work his nerve up to apologize, when the timing was better.

"But that don't change things any" Tex clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Just means right now I'm mad."

Alfred blinked hard as he rested his weight against his brother. Already. Already, his brother had forgiven him. Yeah, they'd have to talk to about it later, and Texas would expect him to be forthright about his issues and fears but...

Texas ruffled his hair playfully.

Forgiven. His spirits lifted tremendously. He swore gravity lightened by tenfold!

"And what are you some goddamn narrator? Pointing stuff out. S'like Alfred's readin' David Copperfield in the kitchen again while I'm cooking. You always go around like this?"

Mathieu flushed and stuttered, "No...I just...I...see you both and how you are...with each other and I...I…"

"You got somethin' to say Matt, spit it out!"

"I didn't mean to cause trouble between you!" the Canadian swallowed "I'm sorry."

"I accept" Tex replied.

"I don't want your words" Alfred spat-not trusting the flinch Mathieu gave in response.

"There ya have it, he don't want words" Texas repeated.

Mathieu gave their brother an incredulous look, like he was expecting Tex to play middleman and smooth it all out. But Tex had his toughest poker face on, "Ya heard yerself."

Except then Tex went and ruined it all by saying, "You best apologize some other way."

Cheater.

Mattie was s'posed to figure that part out by himself.

* * *

Arthur smiled as his child sprinkled iron shavings with the grave concentration of a cook adding spices. Alfred had chased after him once he noticed Arthur patrolling the perimeter. Apparently, Texas went with Mr. Grey and Rhys to look over film footage of 'that night' again.

In the meanwhile, Arthur decided it was a very good time to have a lesson in magical property security. The child may as well learn how to guard himself against unwanted fairy visitors now. Considering their fixation on him, it would no doubt prove a valuable skill.

Arthur nailed horseshoes into posts along every path leading into the estate, while he had Alfred sprinkle iron shavings across each path for good measure. By making a firm boundary, Arthur was putting his foot down. No fae would be able to enter-even flying ones wouldn't be able to weather the strong presence of iron.

Alistair had taken one look at Arthur's supplies and muttered as he handed over four charms to be set at North, South, East, and West: _"Mint'll bite your ears off y'know."_

" _Nonsense. She'll understand; I have a child to protect."_

" _...Idgit."_

Mr. Grey waved them down once to inform Arthur that their suits would arrive by the late afternoon. Mr. Grey asked Alfred if he was looking forward to having his photograph taken.

At Alfred's wide eyed stare, Arthur sheepishly realized he'd neglected to mention that a photographer was coming the next morning to take their pictures.

It was such a fixed part of his winter holiday he'd forgotten. He explained that usually hosting the ball was such an exhausting feat, that he often wound up with few pictures of everyone dressed in their nice things. Therefore, it took a great deal of pressure off as host, to have some guaranteed, professional photos of his children done early.

"And then we'll take a drive up to the MetroCentre. Which two did you get assigned for Christmas shopping? I'm certain I can be of assistance."

"Oh…" Alfred touched a horseshoe thoughtfully. "About that...Seychelle's emails kept going to my spam. I didn't check. So she thought I just wasn't interested. And she let Tex know just a little bit ago that he'd be the odd guy out aaand that's when I learned about it all. So Tex and I are buddies! It's just how we like it!"

Arthur tried to smile back since Alfred seemed enthusiastic.

Michelle ought to have just contacted _him_ about it. He'd have made sure Alfred knew.

Economically it wasn't fair to demand each child (particularly Wy and Sealand) buy gifts for everyone. So usually, a coordinator plucked names out of a jar and each person was assigned two people to buy presents for.

...If Texas hadn't appeared, Alfred would've only received presents from his uncles and father.

"But y'know" Alfred tapped a fingernail against his teeth in contemplation, "I could give you some money and you could buy some whiskey. That's usually a part of my gift to him and-"

"Or we could find him something lovely that's not alcohol. How does that sound, poppet?"

He really didn't need to see a drunk cowboy on Christmas...or Boxing Day.

After they finished up and he took note of Alfred's wind reddened cheeks and runny nose, he ushered the child inside.

Rhys met him in the hall and informed him that Texas, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada were playing cards.

Wy was painting (yes, she remembered to put a tarp down).

Reilley and Alistair were likely still wrestling for the remote control. Rhys already asked Barbados and Seychelles to remove several fragile lamps and statuettes out of their way.

Hong Kong and Jamaica were off in the library and Sealand was rotting his brain with cartoons and videogames.

It wasn't easy keeping tabs on everyone, and he begrudgingly thanked Rhys for his diligence.

If all the other children were busy then it was a good time for another magic lesson.

Thus, father and son settled down in a small parlor in a tower that overlooked the pond. Alfred enjoyed the view. He stared happily at the sky as he sipped at his hot cocoa and got whipped cream on his nose because he insisted that his mug have "extra extra" on top.

"I think today we will go over a particular type of water fae."

"Oooh. Is this a Care Of Magical Creatures lesson?"

"Heh, yes."

"Neat!"

"And so we begin with Lesson One-"

"Lesson Two" Alfred corrected. "Cuz...we went over fairies and stuff in the book that one night. Remember?"

Arthur smiled, "Ah yes, Lesson Two. My mistake dear."

Arthur patted the seat beside him on the small settee.

Alfred climbed up and Arthur used that moment to brush his handkerchief over the child's face and clean it.

Alfred scowled but still sat close to better see the large tome as Arthur opened it.

Arthur wrapped an arm around him, "As you found out first hand we have a rather large pond on the ground."

Alfred nodded.

"Now in that pond, we have an Asrai" he tapped the picture.

Alfred frowned at the childish looking sprite.

"She did everything in her power to make sure your boat didn't capsize."

The little "o" of surprise on Alfred's mouth confirmed Arthur's suspicion. He distrusted just about all fae and likely thought Mint was just a fluke.

He really wanted to take him to meet with Dŵr. True, she mainly spoke in garbled bits of Gaelic and Olde English but…

It'd be so good for him. Not all of the creatures were out to get him. Alas, his scare last night was a setback. Arthur needed to give the boy a day to recoup and then he could see about having the boy present her a moonstone as a show of thanks.

"...I should thank her...shouldn't I?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes. We'll do that later."

"Today?"

Arthur smiled at the enthusiasm, "We can. She's nocturnal though, so we'd have to be out late."

Alfred chewed his lip-no doubt aware it would put him back out near the "creepy woods."

"...she helped me" he replied finally. "I gotta thank her."

Arthur felt his chest swell with pride; such a brave little boy.

"I think that's a very good idea. Now," he pulled the child onto his lap "let me read you a few stories involving them so you'll have a better idea of their nature for when you meet her."

* * *

Alfred trotted down the hall, thoroughly pleased with himself. Arthur said he was doing quite well with his magic studies and was asking very good questions.

Considering what a tough critic Arthur could be, that was mega praise!

Sealand barged in near the end and demanded that England check out his high score on Little Big Planet. England dismissed him early since their lesson would continue tonight!

Which was awesome! From what England had told him, Dwr? Door? Sounded really nice and she was gonna look super cool with webbed hands and feet and everything!

He was just passing a hall when he heard Uncle Alistair.

"So, the only thing he can reliably do is grow flowers. Right? Isn't that right?"

"Alistair" Rhys scolded.

"Tell me how that's useful."

"Easy" Reilley replied "Alfie Boy will always be welcome at weddings...and funerals."

"I'm serious. What's he going to be able to do to defend himself? Dammit all, what can Garden Magic even do in that respect?"

"You're being unfair Alistair. He hasn't even had a lesson in tarots or runes or horoscopes. Let alone fire-signing or hexing or shielding. I, for one, think he'll have a natural talent for the witching stick. Elemental-"

"...He's just a bit over four hundred. Tha's still very young. He's not near as behind as you're making him out to be" Reilley piped in.

Alistair scoffed, "None of that's gonna protect him though. Not in a real fight. I'm lookin' through these lesson guides the lot of you are making. They're rubbish."

"That's because he's not to that point yet. He needs to learn the basics first. He can worry over magical warfare later. He needs to strengthen himself and heal. That fortification spell wreaked quite a bit of havoc on his bones-the stress that put on them...and he suffered two severe head traumas that we know about. Whatever other tricks he knew...they haven't come back to him yet. You're expecting too much."

"You lot are coddling him. Someone needs to tell him that as it is, he's currently ranked far lower than Albion. And that's saying something."

"His powers are fundamentally different" Rhys argued "And we've several millenia on him. I've seen your garden Alistair, you might want to enlist Alfred's aid."

"I'm just saying...that flower growing…if that really turns out to be the only magical talent he _has_..."

"Besides flying?" Rhys added.

"Well...there is that but...what I'm saying is...what're we s'posed to _**say**_ to that?"

"You say you're proud. That's what you say."

"Gwalia."

"..."

Alfred took a step back and then another until he couldn't hear them anymore.

So then…

He wasn't doing "quite well" after all.

He needed...somewhere to be alone. Somewhere no one would bother him...because no one would expect him to be there:

He closed the door to the creepy room and slid down against it.

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes and...dude...something totally moved. There in the dark corner...eerily similar to what he'd seen last night!

He wrenched that door open and sprinted up, up, upstairs until he was safe in his bedroom.

Or so he thought.

As he wiped away tears and snot, he noticed the room grow steadily darker. One by one, the curtains began falling over the windows.

Crap! He was alone!

Horror Movie Golden Rule: Don't be alone!

And there…

Under his bed a pitch black _**something**_ was underneath…

So this was the creepy fairy who moved his stuff, wasn't it?

Alfred squinted into the darkness-trying his hardest not to freak out.

After all, Arthur dealt with this kind of magical crap all the time, right? And Alfred was waaay braver than him-Heroes were s'posed to trump Gentlemen any day of the week.

He could totally handle this; he'd already done two lessons on magical creatures. He was pretty much overdue for some in-the-field experience. Not to mention England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales would be super impressed if he didn't botch this up.

Fact was, he wasn't exactly the brilliantly, talented student they'd been hoping to teach their magic to. He needed these Extra Credit points, dammit!

He gulped and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, "So...you're…"

 _Come on, Al! Keep it casual! You've made it through all sorts of awkward dinner parties through the years for the sake of diplomacy. Let's face it, Dude. This thing while undoubtedly creepy-has STILL been more polite to you than King George III EVER was._

"So you're like a...fairy...right?"

If anyone had told him a year ago he'd be holding conversations with something that chilled in the darkness under his bed, he'd have said they were crazy…and he'd have slept with the lights on for a month.

And yet…

"...like a fairy...yesss...like...a fairy..."

"Sooo…."

Creepy Monster Number One: How do you spend your spare time? What creepy hobbies do you partake in? Are children on the menu? Or did your doctor tell you to try and cut back?

Dammit, Hawaii. Too often, she'd commandeered the T.V. and forced them to watch _The Dating Game_. Clearly, the cheesy charisma of the show's host had rubbed off on him.

"Uh...whatcha...up to? Whaddya...want, exactly?" Alfred tried to keep his grin from wavering.

"...just want to play..."

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly, "W-well...I'm sure Arthur would love a fairy game of croquet and whatever other eccentric European games you guys get up to but-"

"...we just want to play..." the low, deep voice cut him off "With you."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Monopoly. Or Scrabble. Or Crocodile Dundee. Or Google. Or Youtube.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). May give you the creeps : D yay.

 **An:** Hey if you wanna see some awesome fanart (that I can't give you the link to because the site doesn't do links anymore D: rawr) head over to DeviantArt! CranberrytheCat On DeviantArt made an awesome picture for Wendigo titled: "Anyone Can Be Brave." Go see it, it's epic! : DDD

Spoiling you all with a quick update. I dunno how soon I can get the next one up, but enjoy this one for now! : D

 **Chapter 34: Something Was Off**

* * *

Alfred quickly scoped the room out for a monster-bludgeoning-instrument.

He didn't wanna sacrifice the steering wheel sooo….he glanced around. There, okay. He closed the record player up and latched its buckles.

Yeah, it wasn't his top choice for weaponry, but he was America! He could make it work.

"Why me?" He asked-gingerly approaching the bed. If this turned bad, he wanted to have a good wind up and swing.

"...special."

He blinked-not expecting that as the answer.

"We watched you...before…" the voice offered.

"Before?"

"Saving humans as the bombs and buildings and bridges fell."

Alfred nearly dropped the record player. The World Wars! They'd seen him when he was an adult evacuating people!

"Fighting...and flying...reminding us of glorious days gone by."

He swallowed and knelt down, "Oh?"

"Like picking a favorite at the tournaments."

"Tournaments?" Alfred echoed.

"We were _**so**_ pleased to find such an interesting champion. I liked the way you fought in midair. Jousting with planes and machine gunfire."

They'd seen his dogfights in the sky! And rooted him on!

His cheeks flushed. They thought of him as a modern day knight!? Knew him back when he was great; an intense wave of pleasure swept through him at that and he set the record player down.

"So...I've got fans?" He asked eagerly "That's what you're saying? Right? I've got fae fans? So that's why you guys keep coming round! Ya know, I can shake hands or sign autographs if that's what you want. Geez, you guys were really creepin' me out for a while there."

"Wanted you to visit" the deep voice insisted. "Through the water...or through the woods…"

"Through the...hey! You put me in the boat! Didn't you?!" Alfred cried indignantly.

"To be our special guest...for Yule."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "Coulda just written me an invitation. You nearly drowned me!"

"...interference…"

The careless way it was said made Alfred a bit uneasy. Yeah thanks but no thanks, he'd already reached his being kidnapped quota for like...the century.

Though a lot of the stories he'd been told all suggested that fairies were kinda pushy, yet liked having guests. So they did what they had to in order to get company. Which was...kinda inappropriate...setting a kid in a boat without his permission.

Sounded like a good time to get Dad involved; he knew these magicky things the best, "I dunno. Dad has a lot of plans but I can ask and maybe we can swing by. I'll give super duper puppy dog eyes and-"

"Say nothing...he doesn't...like us."

"No way! Arthur loves magical stuff! It has to be a misunderstanding" Alfred assured.

"Not invited."

"But-"

"Only you," It insisted.

"Wait! Not even my br-" Texas would love a fairy visit as a notch on his belt. He always boasted about being the braver hombre when it came to ghosts.

"Only you…"

"Why only me?"

The voice chuckled as it faded, "...because you're _**special…**_ "

The room abruptly brightened as the curtains opened on their own accord. The dark form under his bed was gone and the space was now empty.

He sprinted down the hall to share his crazy encounter with Texas-nearly knocking Wy down as she transported her latest masterpiece.

"Clumsy idiot!" she called after him "Watch where you're going!"

Mr. Gray informed that him his brother was outside, and that he really ought to have a coat!

But there was no time for coats!

"TEX!" he called as he cut across the grass, "TEXAS! You'll never believe…."

He slowed down. Texas was out playing croquet with most of the Commonwealth. He sucked but was taking it in stride-cracking jokes about his lack of talent and making the others laugh.

He paused-feeling conflicted.

Tex looked like he was having fun.

Australia gave Tex a playful slug to the shoulder and the two began boasting feats much to Sealand's delight. Especially when they grew into tales so tall they could've stood on each other's shoulders and still been dwarfed.

"Hello Alfred" Mathieu greeted "All the mallets are taken. Did you want to play in the next game?"

He jumped, "Huh?"

"Did you want to play?"

" _...just want to play...with you…"_

"Uh...no...I...no I'm...good. Thanks." he muttered distractedly. He hastily backtracked away.

"Er...we c-could share" Mathieu offered "Take turns...if you want. Al?"

"No...I…" he bit his lip and glanced at Tex's back. "No, I'm...good."

He retreated to the swingset. After. He could tell Tex after.

A wave of clouds blocked the sun and he pumped his legs lazily.

If only Tex could finish up already!

Abruptly, he was given a push and then another.

And then the swing was seized and he was lifted up, up, up. And then it was gently shaken. Jet was such a good sport with him! Maybe he'd buy him a present anyway-gift quotas be damned!

"...3...2...1 Blast off!" Alfred cheered. And he was released.

Only…

No one ran out from underneath.

And there was no one behind him either.

* * *

Texas sighed. Al was in a mood.

He was kinda quiet through lunch and kept staring under tables and in dark corners. Goddamn paranoia; it hit his brother in waves. And it made him so ornery!

"Whaddyamean my Z's don't count!" Alfred demanded slapping a hand down on the coffee table.

Yup, Al was having a Scrabble meltdown. Apparently, when in Rome with the Commonwealth-their English spelling reigned supreme.

"Rest mon!" Jamaica exclaimed "We just have rules. We don't let Rhys use Welsh either!"

"He'd kill if we did that" New Zealand nodded. "All those consonants...it'd be a massacre."

Jet nodded, "And we'd have to...Google it...to be sure he wasn't just tricking us. He doesn't seem like it...but he's tricky, ya know?"

"The game is more interesting when I play with the Nordics" Rhys admitted.

"No!" Alfred spat "I'm already gonna lose. Lemme use the Z!"

"Zed" Wy corrected.

Texas winced; it was hard for Al to lose and judging by several smug looks around their game board-it was a known fact. God for his dignity, give him the Z! Heartless sonzabitches!

Alfred gave the table a little shake. It was more to show that he was very upset than anything else. If he'd wanted to, he could've thrown that table through the wall. Though that sorta stuff only happened when he was really drunk. Sometimes it was a total accident and he just got too excited about Blackjack.

"Alfred!" England admonished from the other side of the table-teamed up with Sealand and Barbados (and winning by an insane amount). "Guard that temper now. Use your words please and tell me why you're so upset."

"This sucks. I didn't even wanna play this! Everybody else has gotten to pick a fun game to play 'cept me! I got skipped! Wy and Jake have gone twice already. S'not fair!"

"You've been out and about, Alfie boy. Ya can't just show up, when it's 'your turn' and say to hell with the other games" Reilley reasoned.

But that was Al's style. If Al wasn't good at those other games...Al wouldn't show up to let you tease him. And Texas had a strong feeling that was being used deliberately. He levelled a hard stare at Barbados.

"I hate this game! It's stupid. Spelling is subjective! Which makes the rules subjective! It's like judged events at the Olympics and-"

England frowned, "Alfred. Please. Such poor sportsmanship will NOT be tolerated and you don't have to play. But you do have to use your inside voice."

Alfred pouted and crossed his arms, but he did lower his voice, "I wanna play Monopoly dammit."

"Language" Arthur scolded.

"...wanna play Monopoly."

Tex clapped a hand to his shoulder, "C'mon Al, _**we**_ can play Monopoly."

He ignored several cries of dismay as he abandoned his team to walk over to the shelf and pull another gamebox off it.

Alfred wearily followed him, "Everybody's gotten to pick games and movies and channels except me. It's not fair. I only get to choose when it's England and me."

"I know Al."

"...not fair."

It wasn't. He was being ostracized. Tex had already emailed Hawaii about it. She advised that Tex try and schmooze 'em and then make some elbow room and squeeze Al in.

He was trying his damndest to be charming-unfortunately Al was choosing to sabotage himself by being a brat at the worst moment. Even if he had good cause to be crabby.

Ah well. Tex gave it a shot. At the end of the day, he knew whose side he was on!

Alfred sighed, "You...you don't hafta...if you're having fun over there...I'll just...I can play solitaire."

"Oh please; I was bored to tears over there. When do I spell for fun? Never. C'mon."

They were just starting to set up on the floor in a distant corner when-

"Deal me in mates" Australia grinned "I wanna see two Yanks go at it at a game of Capitalism."

Texas glared and readjusted his glasses, " _ **I**_ ain't a Yank, Crocodile Dundee."

"It's Yankee Doodle Dandy" Alfred sniffed "Don't get lazy and shorten it."

"Should be something interesting to see" Canada agreed.

Tex blinked and then smiled. Now Matt was using his brain! Finally! Doing kiddie stuff Al liked always put him in a better mood. He gave his older brother a discreet thumbs up.

"You hate this game" Alfred growled "You mentioned it in your Why-America-Sucks-Rant."

Texas sighed. Dammit.

Canada flushed, "W-well, you like playing it though, right?"

"C'mon Al," Tex wheedled "It's more fun with more people, right?"

He gave a sparkling white smile. C'mon _Crest toothpaste with baking soda,_ work your magic!

There was a tense moment of contemplation and then: " _ **I'm**_ the banker. Cuz heroes don't embezzle."

"Let it go, Al" Tex rolled his eyes "...God...one time…"

"How many tokens are there?"

"Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. Arthur collects these" Jet explained. "They're all in the little wooden box inside so more of us can play at a time."

Alfred blinked as he opened it and discovered "Wow...he even has the rejected ones." marveling at a little robot and then he made his demands: "Tex is the rider. I'm the cannon."

"I'm the racecar!" Jake announced as he scurried over.

"Dammit Jake...He's fast. Uhhh. How about the wheelbarrow?" Jet frowned.

"Thimble" Rhys claimed as he sat down.

"Aw dammit. Gimme the dog" Scotland growled as he approached.

Texas noted that the Scrabble game didn't last long with so many people jumping ship. And then there was the fact that nobody could NOT watch him and Al play.

Not when it meant a volley of insults including:

"You deep fried fiend!"

"Oh Bring it! SnickerDoodle Dandy!"

"Always yammerin' away ya barrel-boarder!" Alfred snapped back.

"C'mon bushwhacker!"

"Don't tread on me!"

"Ya want my railroad? Ya uppish churn-twister? Come and take it!"

"Yer gonna be a mumper when I'm through with you!"

And then finally...

"Dammit...I'm treed."

"Mwahahaha! Yessss, suffer! Suffer in Monopoly Hell!" Alfred cackled. "AHAHAHA!"

"That's why I usually don't play this with him" Mathieu noted as he stared at what few colored paper bills he'd managed to hold onto.

"Rhys...didja get all that?" Jet asked.

"Naturally" Rhys answered as he stopped recording on his phone. "That was golden. I'm titling it Family Game Night."

"Blimey!" Reilley murmured from his spot on an ottoman. "Arthur! You should be ashamed of your malevolent genes. He inherited your empire laugh….my lingering doubts regarding your paternity are now gone! How will I sleep at night? Knowing my nephew's half evil?"

* * *

Alfred was speeding his way to dinner when he tripped over a rumpled bit of carpet and fell hard. His right cufflink shot off across the hardwood floor.

Dammit.

Their suits had come in that afternoon like Mr. Gray said. Alfred decided he ought to try to dress a little more fancy as practice; there was s'posed to be a dinner out the next night after their shopping spree. So he put on the darkest one (on the off chance he was messy) and hurried down.

"Such an oaf" Barbados muttered as she primly stepped over him.

Alfred glowered at her back before sighing. He was pretty sure his cufflink was somewhere under that china hutch across the way. He was gonna get all dusty searching under it.

So much for being fancy. He sighed, at least nothing ripped. That would've made him feel awful. Especially since Arthur had given him these clothes as a present.

Just as he approached, there was a scratching sound and then out came the cufflink between two (God they were at least four inches long!) claws.

They set it down before Alfred's shoes and then retracted back into the darkness.

"T-thanks" Alfred squeaked.

"Poppet?" a British voice called.

Alfred swallowed. He really didn't like claws...claws were creepy.

"Sweet?"

But the creepy claws did return his cufflink.

England tapped him on the head, "Dearheart? I was calling to you. Wha-" He followed Alfred's line of sight, "Did you see a mouse?"

"Nope."

"What are you holding there, aha. Yes," Arthur chuckled, "The right one is always the hardest to put on, isn't it Sweet?"

Alfred watched Arthur set to work-fastening the cufflink and checking that the other was on securely.

"So dapper" Arthur smiled as he finished. He straightened Alfred's suit and re-tied his cravat. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Alfred squirmed and shrugged a shoulder as his face heated up.

"Well, you look very handsome" Arthur stated as he guided him along to the dining room.

At dinner his fork missed his mouth several times as he stared at the far end of the room. Thankfully, nothing on his plate had any kind of sauce. Though the servers had stared at him when he opted for keeping his pasta plain. Nope. Not ruining this suit. No sirree. Not tonight.

As the workers bustled about serving dishes-quick as a wink a long dark arm would shoot out while no one was watching and rearrange items on their serving cart-causing frustration and confusion between the servers.

"Alfred, your food is going cold" Arthur frowned at him from several spaces away.

"Huh?"

It was like musical chairs-every meal somebody different got to sit next to Arthur.

Which shouldn't have been a problem, if he'd gotten to sit next to Tex like he wanted. Except Tex had become the center of attention and Jet and Peter had taken the seats around him.

Alfred sighed. That happened when they frequented saloons too. Contrary to what lots of folks thought, Tex could play nice. He just couldn't _stay_ nice. It wore off given time and frustration.

It was weird that he was employing his charm here though…unless, he was really having a good time or trying to make a good impression...

Tex _**had**_ spent a lot of time on his own during Al's absence, though... Maybe he got more sociable? His motto was "friendship" and he was a good friend...if you could make friends with him. And while it seemed just a bit fishy, he was ultimately glad...if they'd been mean to his brother...he'd have said "screw it" to the whole holiday.

It was just a shame that now Al didn't have anyone to talk to, since Kaoru preferred silence and Wy was annoyed with him. He just didn't know a lot of contemporary artists. And she wasn't really interested in talking astronomy.

Apparently, just because she enjoyed painting the night sky didn't mean she wanted to talk about the cosmos and blackholes and pulsars and stuff.

He poked at his dinner and felt his jaw drop as a whole tray of cookies was lifted and removed from the cart and disappeared from sight.

When dinner wrapped up and everybody dispersed-most moving off to hear Hong Kong play and Barbados sing in a large Music Room, he lingered behind.

He shouldn't have lost his temper earlier. Now everything was even more awkward and everybody liked him even less.

Music drifted in the air while Alfred stared down a darkened hallway.

He wondered what kind of music scary fairies enjoyed? He opened his mouth to ask when-

"Whatchu lookin' at Al?" Texas asked.

"N-nuthin.' I...was just...I've been meaning to tell you...I...I'm...sorry. I should've told you about...the boat." The way he'd had his back when Canada poked at them, made him even more grateful that Tex was on his side.

Tex smiled, "Ya ain't in this alone, alright? You can tell me anything. I'm here for ya."

Alfred felt his face heat up. So mushy. And yet, he couldn't help but ask, "Always?"

"You better believe it, Little Brother."

Alfred couldn't help the smile that stole over his face and he teetered over whether or not to tell him about the...well... _ **thing**_ that had taken a liking to him...and put him in the boat to begin with.

The longer Tex's brown eyes lingered on him, the more pressing the need to fess up became, "Hey Tex? Y'know how I told you about Mint, right?"

"Uh...yeah, the cute little bunny thing?"

"Yeah well, it turns out fae come in lotsa shapes. They can be big too and kinda scary look-"

"Celtic Music Lesson whelp!" Scotland announced as he and his brothers came down the stairs carrying instruments.

"And his" Reilley declared pointing at the bagpipe with his flute "doubles as a defense mechanism! Sends enemies running with their hands over their ears and-"

Scotland swatted at him and Reilley tripped down the last few stairs.

"What's this?" Arthur barked as he entered the entryway with a small basket hanging off his arm. "We don't have time for that. Alfred and I are having a Creature lesson tonight. Yours will need to wait. Alfred, go up and change into something you don't mind getting a bit damp and I'll wait for you here."

"He needs to know songs for Yule." Rhys explained, adjusting his hold on his harp. "Alfred, fetch your violin and we'll show you an area we can practice undisturb-"

"No. It's imperative that he show his gratitude to Dŵr for her quick thinking!"

"Ack, he can do that tomorrow."

"He'll do it tonight!"

Alfred tugged on Arthur's sleeve, "Hey Dad?"

"Yes, pet?"

"Do Asrais like music?"

* * *

Arthur begrudgingly admitted that there was something peacefully nostalgic about listening to his brothers play.

He stared up at the first quarter moon as Rhys plucked whimsical chords. It reminded him of long ago evenings, spent on his mother's lap as she sang and they practiced.

Though there were no half-breathed childish curses when notes were missed. Because notes weren't missed now.

He surprised himself by feeling melancholy over that.

He looked over his brothers. They were all so...old now...experienced...hardened.

Their hands were calm and fluid as they moved. Years of practice...it made Mother's memory feel even further away.

However, just as he began to sink with the thought, there was a happy shriek of laughter.

Alfred twirled away from the pond's edge as Dŵr gave a mischievous smile. One webbed hand held her newest moonstone, the other playfully splashed at Alfred when he danced near.

Alfred waved his father's wand gleefully.

When they first stepped outside into the darkness, the child had stared about with such intensity that Arthur felt obliged to mutter a quick illumination spell and hand his wand over.

The child had grinned at the sight of the glowing star tip, "Like you did the first night!"

"Be just as careful with it this time, my wand's very precious to me."

There was a solemn nod. Fast forward a half hour and Alfred was treating it more like a sparkler than a sacred object-laughing as he waved it over his head.

As he darted about, the light bobbed and weaved like a drunken firefly.

Scotland admonished Arthur for allowing the child to hold it at all.

" _Mum never let any o' us, touch her scepter Albion. Not even Rhys. You sure yeh know what yer doin'?"_

Yes, Alfred wasn't paying it the right amount of respect but...he couldn't bring himself to feel properly annoyed. Any time he tried, he thought of Little Roanoke, in his ragged gown under a dark sky-lonely and frightened and cast out for being a 'witch'…

"Will I get a wand?" Alfred asked abruptly as he circled Arthur.

"Hmm? I don't know dear. But whatever instrument chooses you. It'll be the right one. I know it."

Arthur ruffled his hair and Alfred grabbed his hand and pulled him along into a haphazard jig and then into a game of tag with Texas.

He wished the other children would play with Alfred like this.

Perhaps it had something to do with the time era, he'd raised Alfred in. Or perhaps more to do with how little money he'd had at first.

Arthur couldn't afford to lavish Alfred with all the toys he'd wanted to and so he engaged the child in tag, or hide and seek, or whimsical "quests."

They dressed up in Arthur's old uniforms and staged pretend battles with rocks and pinecones and logs for cannons. They made silly improv plays and climbed trees and swam and sang and told stories and picked flowers and just...

He was honestly impressed Alfred had lasted as long as he did with a slew of board games which swiftly turned to "I'm-bored" games because none of them utilized Alfred's full energy.

He was coming to accept that Alfred...that America...that Roanoke had lived a very wild, independent, dangerous, and uncertain life before Arthur waltzed into it.

Which wasn't easy considering his own childhood. Albion had been a very wild child-willful, stubborn, petty, and often jealous. He was regularly contrary, reckless, and bold. He'd often done all he could to buck against rules his brothers and the fae held him to and pitied himself for their "cruelty" in making him mind.

For Alfred there'd been no rules at all.

Which was bloody fucking terrifying to a parent!

There'd been no rules because there'd been no one there!

Since Iroquois was only around when it suited her, America was largely left to his own devices. Which ultimately meant wandering around the coast aimlessly looking for a Colonizer whom he'd never met.

It was horrible for him to think about. Anyone who had ever spent an afternoon watching over a toddler understood that toddlers were small, fast-moving lunatics.

What reasoning skills they had...were often bizarre, conflicting, and irregular.

Alfred was left to survive in an undeveloped wilderness where strongly flowing rivers, crumbling cliffs, frightful storms, ferocious wolves, and warring tribes were everywhere!

And there was no steady supply of food or shelter or love-

He gave Alfred's hand an affectionate squeeze.

...after their separation...there'd been no guiding hand again...no father to depend on...and Alfred was back to trying to raise himself.

And some things he learned with frightening efficiency (self-defense, business, innovation).

And other things (trust, communication, prudence) he was almost hopeless at.

He was young. There was still time to learn. But he needed people to be patient with him...gentle with him...

He tried to explain all that to Barbados (who'd taken Alfred's outburst poorly) that America was still very young mentally and emotionally. And he'd always been very active.

Honestly, Arthur was rather relieved to see his spirits return-even if it had the side effect of bad behavior now and then. If Alfred was especially quiet or unusually still, it meant that he was injured, or sick, or sad. He'd waited with bated breath these past few months for Alfred to start showing real signs of recovery.

Here it was! Surely she remembered? It was hard for Alfred to sit still for so long, especially when he wasn't being given much choice in what he was doing. It may as well have been 17th Century Geography Lessons all over again.

And as far as Alfred's little tantrum went...the child had been more upset than frustrated and Arthur had to be very firm with Olivia that such a reaction didn't need discipline-it needed soothing. If what Alfred said was true (and Arthur suspected it was) they hadn't been giving Alfred his fair turn. Which wasn't acceptable behavior from _**them**_ either. The accusation made her go rather quiet and she promptly changed the subject.

Alfred was high energy. They needed to do activities that took that into consideration. He'd probably like croquet. Perhaps, if they didn't keep score the first few rounds while he learned, it'd make Alfred feel more comfortable.

And if that failed. The energy just had to be chased out of him. Literally. Maybe Jet could be recruited for the job. Because even Texas looked a bit worn out.

O Alfred was an energetic bundle tonight. He wanted to race, and chase, and dance, and play.

Alistair and Reilley had been a bit ruffled to learn Alfred had little interest in trying out their different instruments that night or taking in the history behind them.

Rhys surprised him by immediately scolding the two. He waspishly informed them that it was perfectly acceptable that Alfred simply listen and dance. It was good that he did so instinctively. Mother had them dancing and playing to the beats long before she had them learning drums or flutes...which certainly cowed them into belting up.

If only they'd have swapped places with Arthur! Oh they'd have been relieved to just play orchestra for the night! Arthur was thoroughly exhausted by the time he collapsed by the water's edge-a yawning Alfred held fast in his arms.

The Asrai leaned over Arthur-her dark fish eyes bright with amusement.

She pointed at him.

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the droplets that landed on his face.

Then she pointed at Alfred.

Her hand dropped and she looked excitedly at Arthur again, "Leanabh gille?"

England laughed lightly and nodded, "mīn."

"What did she say?" Alfred demanded-nearly poking Arthur in the eye with the wand.

"Don't you worry over it" Arthur murmured-giving him a gentle hug.

She gave him another warm smile and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear, "bòidheach."

He thanked her and she giggled-wading back into the water.

When they finally returned to the house and were saying their goodnights, Arthur advised Texas to call Antonio. The staff had been harassed with calls all day and it likely only stopped because Spain took pity on them after 10pm passed.

"Oh, I'll just call him in the morning," Tex waved a hand dismissively "He's probably sleeping and-"

"I assure you he isn't." Arthur gave him his most potent paternal look of deep disapproval "Call your father, young man. Now."

"...God yer bossy..." Tex grumbled but nonetheless pulled out his cell and dialed the Spaniard.

"Tell him I'm taking photos tomorrow" Arthur called out as he and Alfred moved up the stairs.

Tex raised an eyebrow.

"And what sized pictures he wants of you."

The young man blushed.

"I imagine he'll want a few wallet sizes to start with but have him email me his order."

It was the least he could do-his inability to control his brood and stave off their jealous pranks had resulted in that boat incident. And so Arthur was indirectly responsible for disrupting Antonio's holiday plans.

The least he could do was pay for a few photos...and force a phone call. From one father to another, he knew how it felt to be left waiting.

He'd lost track of all the late nights he'd spent watching the front door or sitting by the telephone. Jet was usually the 3 am call. Barbados was the tearful one. And Alfred was the call that didn't come. Which started Arthur's tradition of calling the American Embassy to make sure he returned safely after a meeting.

O Fatherhood...it wasn't easy.

By the time Arthur changed into his pajamas, got Alfred to change into his pajamas, tucked Alfred in, kissed Alfred goodnight, got Alfred a glass of water, kissed Alfred goodnight _again_ , turned Alfred's nightlight on, and settled into his own bed...it took Herculean effort to muster the strength to turn his bedside lamp off.

He sighed blissfully into the darkness, laid back onto his pillows, and closed his eyes.

He was just entering a light doze when there was the CLICK of Alfred's door closing.

He frowned.

He preferred having the door open-that way if Alfred had a terror, Arthur didn't need to worry about running into a door when he rushed over.

He contemplated opening it back up, but begrudgingly remembered Rhys's warning that Alfred needed privacy.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

He was just entering a dream where he was collecting shells on a beach with warm sand between his toes when-

His eyes opened.

What was that?

Again.

Giggling?

Probably watching something on Youtube or texting his brother.

There was a creaking of floorboards and more giggling.

The floorboards groaned again.

Arthur frowned, threw back the covers, and marched across the room.

He knocked on the door.

There was a gasp from within.

"Alfred? I'm opening the door, Dearheart."

He found Alfred sitting on the floor with an old flashlight he didn't recall being in the room when he prepared it.

The child stared up at him with a slack jawed expression.

"Are you...on the phone?" Arthur asked but...no...the phone was over on the dresser...as was the boy's laptop.

"Uh...no I was just practicing."

"Practicing?" Arthur raised a great eyebrow.

Alfred demonstrated his shadow puppet skills, "See?"

And while Alfred had always been easily entertained when it came to theatre it didn't explain the level of jubilation he'd overheard.

Arthur's hands rested on his hips and he tapped an impatient foot, "Is Texas in here?"

Did the boy somehow slip in? He didn't crawl in through the window, did he?!

He abruptly turned on the lights. No...all the windows were latched.

"...No..."

Arthur checked under the bed.

Nothing.

"Were you two texting?"

"Nope."

Big blue eyes watched his every move hawkishly and unease dripped down into his stomach.

He released the bedskirt as he stood back up, "I'm not angry love, I just...you need your rest. It's awfully late and we have a long day tomorrow."

"Kay."

He hoisted the child up and set him on the bed.

He fluffed the pillow, smoothed the sheets, and frowned at the iron ring on Alfred's thumb. He frowned harder at what seemed to be biscuit crumbs around Alfred's mouth. Yes, Alfred hadn't eaten very much at dinner, but he couldn't just smuggle sweets whenever he felt like it. But...but...Arthur's brows drew together...when would he have managed to steal off to the kitchen?

Something fluttered at the back of his mind-bumping against him like lethargic flies.

"Is everything alright, Alfred?"

"Yup!"

Something was...off.

"Are you sure?"

He glanced around the room, not sure what it was.

"Yes, Daddy."

He kissed the child's forehead-noting from the slight squirm and exasperated sigh that he had a wide awake child on his hands again. One who had no plan of surrendering to sleep so easily. Alas...

"Here, I'll tell you a few stories, shall I?" He stretched out beside his son. "When I was a boy, not much older than you I decided that I wanted to capture a banshee. I really believed I could, you see. And that with the right argument, I could convince her to protect my lands and harass my brothers...Reilley especially. Because he's an arse. Earlier that month, he told me about a bog with magical properties that could grant wishes if you bathed in it. It really just had lots of leeches. So naturally I needed to have my revenge..."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or _Toddlers and Tiaras._ Or _An Poc Ar Buile, Tale of Two Cities, Midsummer's Night Dream,_ _Legend of Sleepy Hollow,_ or _Anna Karenina. Or this_ Quote from Dante's Inferno: _"No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy..."_

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Me writing a sad song for Alfred. Me making a jingle. Military tucking. Shirt stays. Probably Feels. XD

 **An: Hope You Had A Happy 4th of July! WOOOHOOO! XDDD** Posting chap during my lunch hour! Hope you enjoy! And thank you for your wonderful reviews! And now I gotta go! : D

 **Chapter 35: Oddly Cathartic**

* * *

Alfred sighed and cracked his knuckles, "I'm not a pianist or a singer or anything but...if you really wanna hear it. Then...okay."

He took a deep breath and plonked a few simple chords on the ivory keys.

" _Everyone loves me like Springtime._

 _When the fields are a'blooming each day._

 _Everyone loves me like Springtime._

 _And like Springtime their love never stays."_

He'd hummed a bit of his song that morning and Grym, or at least he'd nicknamed his big scary fairy friend Grym, (since it wouldn't introduce itself properly for fear of Alfred slipping up around Arthur) had demanded a performance. It was oddly cathartic...and the more he sang, the more lyrics he remembered.

" _Fondness fades fast with the Summer._

 _Your time with me shortens each day._

 _You'll tire of me by the Autumn._

 _The sky and your love will turn grey."_

 _O nobody lo-"_

The door opened.

"There you are!" Arthur declared breathlessly "Been looking all ov-oh my goodness! Alfred!?"

"Y-you said I had to go!"

Arthur had been adamant that Alfred leave while Arthur was having a heated phone call with Parliament over EU matters.

Arthur bent double with a fit of laughter-hands bracing against his knees, "I-I meant...in the other room Dearheart. Your bedroom! I didn't mean...Oh! O how scandalous."

Alfred's face reddened and he felt increasingly more self conscious as he sat on the piano bench in his white button down shirt...and Superman boxers.

It was one of those rare moments where he actually found himself wishing his Dad had remained stoic.

Every time he looked at him, Arthur breathed a soft "ha."

Alfred adjusted his socks and shirt stays which seemed to amuse Arthur even more.

His cheeks puffed. Hey, they'd keep his shirt smooth and his socks up! And it gave him a spring in his step too! Plus, military tucking could be a pain in the butt.

"I'm wearing my fancy socks" Alfred announced-trying to change the subject.

"So I see" Arthur laughed.

"The wool ones."

"Do you like them?"

"Yeah, they're warm and soft."

"Good" Arthur snickered "Now...heh...now, come along dear, let's get you _**fully**_ dressed, shall we?"

Arthur took him by the hand and let him out of the room.

As Alfred left, he cast a look over his shoulder to where a dark oil-like shadow rested underneath the piano. Chilling with Grym was kinda like standing on a ladder. At first it was really scary and you got a swooping feeling in your stomach that you needed to watch your step. But after a while you adjusted, and a while after that you grew comfortable.

Yeah, he was kinda creepy...with his milky white eyes and his sharp grey teeth and tar-like gums and his gnarly clawed hands and the way he could just materialize out of darkness-or hang half-in-half-out of a shadow. But he seemed nice enough when they talked and he had all sorts of nice things to say about Alfred. Which was a rarity nowadays.

Besides it was like Arthur kept stressing the other night about Door the Pond fairy; just because someone looked different, it didn't mean they meant you harm.

In fact, Grym seemed like a good ally. He knew a lot about magic and didn't have the hangups that his U.K. family had about talking to him frankly. None of that crawl before you walk, walk before you run crap. He flat out said that if Alfred came to their fairy Yule, he could meet beings of great magical power. Ones that could answer any question Alfred had.

When Grym asked Alfred about the nature of his magic...Alfred froze-remembering Alistair's criticisms of the uselessness of Garden Magic. To save face, he lied and said he didn't know yet.

Which made Grym even more interested-insisting that he and the others (whoever the "others" were) could help Alfred discover it.

Apparently, there were spells they could cast with his consent that would make his talent known.

When Alfred asked if they could perform great feats of magic like...say...making a palace float in the sky, or making Marmite tasty, or making a kid into a grown up…Grym answered that they could accomplish all sorts of things-especially if they had an object of power.

An object of power...like a wand. Wands were wonderfully powerful.

" _Because they're made especially for magic" the creature explained. "Other things like staffs and swords and shields are meant for fighting...by having specific uses...they have limits...wands...wands can create all sorts of things."_

As they reentered Arthur's bedroom and Arthur went to help Wy, who'd been waiting impatiently for him, Alfred couldn't help casting a furtive glance at Arthur's desk. Lying on its surface, totally unassuming, was a thin mahogany case. Inches over was a stack of Thank you Notes, Arthur was still expecting him to write to Parliament, the Royal family, Stewart, and God knew who else. It'd be so easy to swipe it. Just for a little bit. Like when he borrowed Tex's hammer. It was a tool. Right? Tools were meant to straighten things out.

He cast a critical eye at his reflection.

Because so many people kept stopping by, Arthur had moved the full length mirror from his closet out into the bedroom.

Alfred frowned at what he saw: the slight pudge of a little boy belly, baby fat in his face, and small soft fingers…not a callous to be found.

Still, if Grym's buddies were as powerful as he claimed…

Then today's photo would be a souvenir! A _"Hey, remember that crazy time I was a rugrat for two months?_ " and not _"Remember, that year I became lame and nothing I did could change it?"_

He looked longingly at the wand case again.

The other night Arthur had admitted that it was tiring-storing the wand and taking it out repeatedly from the Ether.

The Ether being the super scary place that Wendigo slept when they weren't wreaking havoc eating people...yeah...wands were super safe there! You'd have to be crazy to treasure seek in that kind of place.

Arthur made it sound like the Ether was really vast…

Alfred shuddered. He didn't want to think about all the creepy crawlies lurking in it if that was true.

"You're pulling too hard!" Wy reprimanded from across the room and Arthur sighed and loosened his hold on her dark hair.

All sorts of questions and demands were made in Arthur's bedroom that morning. Girls were asking if there were rules regarding the height of their heels. Guys were asking if they could wear sneakers and ditch ties.

Arthur bustled about in his crisp white shirt, silver brocade vest, and pressed trousers. The authoritative click-clack of his dress shoes took Alfred back to a lifetime where that sound meant Father was home! Home! For his nursemaid had a much lighter step and the workers who tended the field weren't supposed to come in (and the rare times they did they made a 'clomp' rather than a 'clack'). And it used to signify pure, childish joy for Father was home and Alfred had every intention of capitalizing on it! Stories, games, plays! Everything! And he'd race down the stairs to throw his arms around Father's legs.

That was all before he realized that what he was hearing was actually a military clip. The hard footstep was really the sound of a nation who wanted to stifle him and his ambitions for the sake of mercantilism.

It was a step that made him tense during meetings-chest constricting first with misguided hopes of reconciliation after the Revolution and then with lingering resentment after 1812. He learned how to duck behind curtains and pillars when he heard the heard the forceful stride of the British Empire echoing down the hall and he just didn't feel like dealing with his old man's ego.

Alfred blinked as he was given a gentle pat on the head from the owner of that gait as he marched past to get at Sealand, whose bowtie looked like a ground propeller prepping for take off.

It had been weird hearing that footstep become a weary trudge during the World Wars and then transform to something lighter in the following years. As if he'd lost weight or...maybe it was because his people and government kept cutting funds for their military…

He watched Arthur walk back to Wy. The girl had used his time away to select the best hair accessory and was now holding it out to him with an imperious expression.

As Alfred watched the chaos unfold, he felt unsure of what to feel.

There was something...homey about all of this. All of them here...like a...like a-a family...almost...

His heart twisted painfully as part of it buoyed upward with hope even as the other part sank further down-the part that knew exactly how dangerous optimism could be and how it got him suckered into stuff so easily.

Did Arthur know his wand could fix Alfred's problems and was feigning ignorance? Or was Grym like an oily used car salesman and not telling the whole truth about what he was selling? Or was it something in the middle?

Alfred buttoned his vest while seriously contemplating the fairy's offer as he watched Arthur struggling to maintain order with all of his wards swarming him. Yeah, Arthur had really sounded like he wanted him there for Yule, but Alfred was starting to wonder if he could lessen the stress by spending it elsewhere.

Grym agreed that this winter holiday was particularly taxing and that Arthur was missing out. He hadn't gone for a walk in the woods, or a rowing over the pond, or a million other relaxing things he usually did. When Alfred asked if it was _his_ fault, (Arthur had spent a lot of time dealing with Alfred's laundry list of issues) the creature shrugged.

"I changed my mind. I want a chignon!" Wy demanded.

Would it be easier on everybody if the hero bowed out? He knew Arthur hadn't gotten much sleep last night or any night since Alfred had been recovered. Alfred just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

"Yes love" Arthur muttered with a comb between his teeth as he re-styled her hair. He paused in the middle of the twist to bark at Sealand "Get off that bed, you scamp!"

With a whoop, the tween bounced off the mattress and ran down the hall.

"You children will be the end of me" Arthur grumbled.

Yeah, Dad really had his hands full with all these kids.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred, "For God's sake Alfred, put your trousers on!"

* * *

Texas fidgeted as Arthur straightened his collar. He'd rushed into the house to help with Alfred's solo photos, but was facing a British roadblock.

"-look like a ruffian...all askew…"

"I already took my damn photos! Lemme go ya limey-"

"Such language" England huffed "Spain was far too lenient with you….hmph...no wonder Alfred relapses into using unsuitable language. He'll improve at the meetings and then mysteriously regress...No mystery now. Hmph. No one to model good behavior after-"

Tex wrestled himself away from the lecture/guilt trip.

They'd already taken group photos in the ballroom and the entryway. The guests were divvied up for their solo shots by what Tex guessed was age and rambunctiousness.

Group X (they dubbed themselves Group Madhouse) had Scotland, Northern Ireland, Australia, Jamaica, and himself.

Group Y (whom they arbitrarily dubbed, to New Zealand's woe, Group Snooty) had Wales, Canada, Barbados, Hong Kong, New Zealand, and Seychelles.

And Group Z (who Tex named Group Awesome before anyone dared to name it otherwise. The crazy look in his eye kept folks from challenging it and Alfred had laughed and said Prussia would approve) had Wy, Sealand, and America...with England playing Mama Duck.

Tex had to give it to 'em though-Ackerson Photo Studio knew how to play the game-it was run by four brothers all in their fifties: Andrew, Anton, Aaron, and Archie. To complicate matters-they were two sets of twins and their faces all looked the same-age difference be damned.

Damn, he couldn't figure out who was who-but he had to admire it. It sure let them divide and conquer like no one's business!

They'd station a brother and his equipment in a particular part of the estate and have each group rotate to the next area after they finished. One was in the ballroom, one was out by the gardens, and one was in the library, and the eldest one with the polkadot bowtie made rounds-checking to see if any additional help was needed.

Being high energy, naturally, Tex's group finished first. Which was great! Because he wanted a good photo of Al for his own collection and if he was gonna get it, he'd need to make Al give a real smile for the camera.

On his way into the library he'd passed Wy and Sealand in the hall who were loudly bench-racing about who was better at windsailing.

Once America finished up and the last garden group returned-they'd all be gathered back into the entryway for specialty pictures (cough pose with your favorites cough).

Mr. Polkadot tie and his doppelganger were a few paces ahead and unaware that England and Texas were in eavesdropping range.

"So that's America" one murmured.

"Aye" Polkadot replied.

"...not...what I…"

"Aye."

"...I had trouble with him."

"Aaron did too."

"He looks fine just…"

"Plastic."

"Yeah…we'll have to tell Archie not to take it personally."

Yeah. Tex mentally agreed. But what they didn't get was that Barbie America was a defense mechanism with a smile made of steel. If he felt socially awkward or uneasy, the shields would raise. If they'd just let Tex get close, he could get him to relax.

"What can yeh expect?" Polkadot shook his head "That pony's been put through his paces. Yeh've seen _Toddlers and Tiaras_ -I can only imagine what they do with the poor boy-"

"I know. Kept asking if I could whiten his teeth digitally. Cuz he hasn't been able to keep up his dental regiment these past few months."

The twins shared a look.

Tex's gaze shifted over to England-whose eyebrows had drawn together in concern.

Yeah, his little brother had modeled through the years. Yeah, you could tell. He knew where to put his hands, how to set his feet, how to angle his head.

You name it, he'd done it-advertisements on the radio, on the T.V., and plenty of magazines through the years.

" _C'mon Tex. I just gotta stand there or say a jingle or hold something. We could always use the money. I mean...as long as people are gonna think I'm just a pretty face. I may as well get paid for it.'_

"Alright. I think that's a wrap."

"You...sure?" Alfred blinked.

"Mmhm" the photographer stretched and yawned "So...what have you been in?"

"H-huh?"

"Been in any commercials?"

"Oh…" Alfred tapped his heel on the ground "Yeah. Hair straighteners and stuff..."

"I know you've got years under your belt, America. Give me an oldie. C'mon boy, let's hear it."

"Geez, you guys know about us too. England freaks out on me anytime I write my country name on a binder with a phone number and here he's told ab-so-pos-u-lutely everyone. I get that it's an island and news travels fast, but did he _**ever**_ have a secret identity?"

"Waiting."

Alfred cleared his throat, and in an East Coast 1920's radio twang delivered:

"Wond'ring what you can do

For the ol' red, white, and blue?

Help our boys across the way,

By buy, buy, buying War Bonds Today!"

The man laughed and gave a bit of applause.

Alfred rocked on his heels, "Yeah, so...I'm involved more in marketing stuff now…though I help out in military pamphlets when they need someone to model correct posture for holding a rifl...er..ya know w-whatever they need me to do...or first aid…I get chosen for the CPR section a lot."

"I imagine it must be interesting watching cameras evolve. Definitely a swifter process now."

Alfred shrugged, "Yeah...timewise it's more efficient but…"

"Hmm?"

"I dunno...I kinda liked the symbolism in the paintings though...even though they took for friggin' ever. Not to diss on photography or anything, it can be symbolic! I just…just..."

"Tell me."

"Well, it was exciting-going through your house adding stuff to what they brought. It was like setting up for a play. And you had to get the whole thing done in one act. One scene. One shot. Ya know?"

"What sort of things were your favorite?" he gestured at his prop table-which was laden with artificial flowers, faux swords, books, and other miscellaneous items.

Tex had posed with a fake gun...and complained about its fakeness the whole time. Friggin' fake gun...now he was gonna have to go home, schedule another shoot and pose with the real thing. He had plenty to choose from. It'd be great. Especially, since it seemed like Alfred wasn't freaking out about photos any more.

Old West photo shoot, here they came!

"...I...it doesn't...well, I liked fancy fabric...with the folds all...elegant and swooping and...?"

The photographer helped him arrange it on a nearby, ornate desk.

Alfred nodded approvingly, "And ya gotta have a globe." He snatched it off a bookshelf, turned it to show off the United States, and carefully set it on the desk. "Oh! And flowers! Because...because….because! Dammit! Manly men like me, can like flowers" He set a vase of roses and daffodils down. "Perfect!"

The photographer nodded, "What else do you think?"

"Well, we're already in a library so that fills the background really nicely."

"Given the choice of what to hold. What did you usually prefer?"

Tex stared. Holy crap. This guy was smart. All psychological-like! He was having Alfred set up his final picture himself.

Alfred shrugged, "It...it doesn't really matter. It's usually something macho-swords or guns or stuff."

"Did you ever choose for yourself? In any of your past paintings?"

"Well...there was this one I did...an uberly long time ago...I got to set it...though...my founding fathers teased me-I..." Noting the man's interest pique, Alfred continued "I carried some books."

"Hmm. We pulled some books off the shelves for the lot of you to use if you felt like it."

"Oh. That pile there? I thought it was yours. You've got some good titles there."

"Fear I went for the colors rather than the content. Not much of a reader" the man replied dismissively.

Damn. He was good. Maybe Tex wasn't needed.

Alfred's jaw dropped and he practically clutched his pearls and began grabbing them, "You haven't read any of these?! But-but-but- _Tale of Two Cities!_ _Midsummer's Night Dream!_ _Legend of Sleepy Hollow! Anna Karenina! Dante's Inferno!?_ "

" _ **You've**_ read _Dante's Inferno_?" the man replied incredulously

" _No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy..."_

Arthur released a soft "...oh…"

Texas blinked. It was the sound you usually heard in a boxing match, when an unexpected punch landed hard.

By the time Alfred finished rattling off literary "masterpieces," he had an impressive stack of books in his arms as he walked back over to the desk.

"Can't believe you haven't read _**any**_ of these. I mean-what about nonfiction? Or poetry? You read that, don't you? Newspapers? Magazines? Blogs? Manga? Pamphlets?"

The photographer shrugged as he wiped the lens of his camera with a soft cloth.

"I remember Daddy would-er-my Dad...y'know...England?"

The man nodded nonchalantly, "Your Dad?"

"Yeah! It was awesome! Dad would bring me these trunk-fulls of books and he had a library and-and-and he knew all the hardest words and then-then the printing presses came over! It was so exciting. All the new things I got to learn about places and people I never even knew existed! Across the ocean! And I didn't even have to travel! Which was great cuz I sucked at being on ships. But you don't get seasick when you travel to far off places in a book!" Alfred chattered happily. "And the more years that went by, the more there was! Science and mechanics and breakthroughs and business and history! With the right book and time and effort, you can learn anything! And you can do it anywhere! I mean, I could man a trading post and be reading or I could be waiting before a meeting and be reading. Or when everybody's mad at me and won't sit with me at lunch-it's fine! Cuz I've got a book! And they're so easy to hide in my jacket, cuz everybody thinks I'm fluffy! And while they're all busy being clique-y. I'm learning the latest breakthroughs in neuroscience! Or about new computer motherboard configurations! Or reviewing staticians' proposals on agricultural rotations! It's awesome!"

Texas smiled. Yup, smart guy. He found Alfred's passion.

"You really love reading, don't you?"

Brilliant blue eyes glowed with joy as Alfred smiled happily and gave an emphatic,"YES!"

 _Click._

" _Damn Archie's good"_ was all the thought on every adult's mind.

England glided up smoothly-taking a moment to turn the globe so it had both the East of the U.S. and the U.K. showing.

"And that's you done" Archie nodded at Alfred.

England pulled the chair out from the desk, and turned it to face the camera. The sound alerted America to who was behind him.

"Oh! Hey Dad! Your turn!" He smiled toothily.

"Indeed" England agreed-taking the heavy stack of books out of America's arms and setting a few here and there. Once Alfred saw the pattern he was making to show off the spines-Al stepped back in.

"Ta da!" Alfred laughed when they finished.

"Well done."

Arthur sat down and just as Alfred made to step back-his father gestured for him to stay.

Alfred shifted on his feet, uncertainly, "It's...it's your turn...though."

"I'd like you to stay" Arthur replied. "If you would…"

Alfred drew closer and stood awkwardly at the side of the chair-trying to arrange himself "properly." Except he was so old school in his choices that he was giving Texas flashbacks of the late 1860s. 'Specially since father and son were both in Victorian styled suits.

Arthur gently pulled Alfred up to sit on his lap.

"H-hey...what?"

"Your photo of us was damaged" England explained. "The cheap frame you gave it, broke" here he levelled a stern look "I can show you how to judge quality glass for frames, if you like."

Texas rolled his eyes. God, he was such a nag.

"You…"

Alfred turned to give him an incredulous look, "You kept it?!"

"Of course, I did."

Texas edged closer, ready to do damage control. Al had gone stiff and pale. He had that weird neutral expression he got when his gears jammed and he wasn't sure which face was the right one to wear.

"Goodness, what a look" Arthur declared as he gently straightened the large blue bow under Alfred's chin.

Texas glared. Dammit, England. He was all happy a minute ago and now you've gone and spoiled it all! Least he could do was not tease him about it.

"Won't do at all" Arthur tapped a finger to his chin "Now, what was it you said? Oh yes! _'Smiling...is in!'_ What say you, pet? Shall we give it a go?"

"..."

"In the future though, do make your notes easier to find. If that frame hadn't broken, who knows how long it would've taken me to find?"

Alfred looked down and bit his lip-hands resting on the satin green lapels of Arthur's jacket.

"You...kept…it..."

"A gift from you...to me. I always treasure your gifts" Arthur smiled.

Alfred tentatively looked up and then relaxed as he noticed Arthur's sincerity. His cheeks pinked and then an awfully sweet smile that Tex just wasn't used to seeing directed at anyone but himself stole over his face.

 _Click._

* * *

Alfred crossed his arms unhappily. It was a super long bus ride to the MetroCentre and he forgot his headphones, which meant he couldn't just listen to his audiobook on extreme couponing. And he could only tap the buttons on his coat so many times without making Wy and Sealand stare. They just didn't get that it was comforting. Fancy buttons. All accounted for. No unexpected breezes through vacant button holes.

The worst part was he'd wanted to sit with his Dad and Tex, but Barbados was hogging the former and Mattie the latter. They both promised to ride with him on the way back. But that didn't help him now.

Scotland had shoved him out of the seat beside him which hurt more than he expected. But he held it in, cuz he wasn't a wuss and he HAD been trying to edge out New Zealand who'd been there before him.

He'd really been hoping to use it as a chance to make his uncle like him again. The whole interaction only served in totally setting Arthur off like a hand grenade. His Dad may as well have been breathing fire as he scooped Alfred up from the aisle. Seriously a 10 on the Richter Scale of rage. Arthur's face went all splotchy, Alistair turned red, and the two of them went at it. Three angry swear riddled sentences in and they switched over to Gaelic.

Everybody watched in deer-in-the-headlights mode until Reilley boarded the bus singing _An Poc Ar Buile_. He waltzed in between the both of them to pluck Alfred out of Arthur's arms and trot to the back of the bus.

Both of his brothers had stared after him:

" _Nutter."_

" _Numpty."_

Rhys had boarded immediately after with a large satchel brimming with supplies rasping, _"Alright...Yes, I think I have everything. We can leave now."_

Jamaica was a fun driver. She took corners fast enough that it made the beginning fun, but the long stretches of straight road was boring. And he was stuck nestled between Reilley and Rhys at the back of the bus.

Which could've been tolerable (the restroom didn't smell which was a godsend by itself) but his fun uncle went and fell asleep one hour in and snored...loudly.

He was kinda grateful when Rhys reached over his head to push Reilley further away.

At least until Rhys tried to use that moment to strike up a conversation on magic-telling him he'd done well with Door the fairy, but that he needed to treat Arthur's wand with more care.

"It would've been terrible to have lost it in the pond."

Alfred sighed. Geez. Just what he wanted. A lecture.

"His wand is very precious to him. It helps him focus his magic like…" Rhys cast about for the proper metaphor "Like a conduit."

Alfred perked up with interest, "It's a tool that helps with magic?"

"Yes."

Just like Grym said. Which was a point in Grym's favor for being truthful.

"And it has great personal value. He's had it since he was very young. It manifested during Yule when…" he pursed his lips a moment. "...I'll let Arthur tell that story. My crystal ball appeared when I was by the river-"

"You don't have a wand?"

"N-no. I have a crys...wait...Texas didn't tell you I had a crystal ball?"

Alfred blinked, "I mean...I saw your guys' props on the videos but-"

Rhys's eyebrow twitched at the word "prop,' he cleared his throat, "Those are sacred objects which aid in sorcery. As you might have noticed, all of them are different. Each magic user eventually manifests one that best suits his particular magic and personality. What you value as essential will have great influence over the shape it takes."

"Oh" Alfred murmured and then frowned as realization set in. Things Alfred valued!? He gasped, "W-w-wait a minute! How can you make sure it's something cool?"

"What...do you mean?"

"What if I manifest a spork or something?!"

Rhys stared at him for a long moment, opened his mouth to talk, but both corners twitched oddly. He closed his mouth again, took a deep breath in through his nose and replied, "Well then, it would be a very magical spork and likely dishwasher safe."

"Ohohoho. Soooo clever" Alfred grumbled.

"I've my moments" Rhys replied. "Now, what I'm trying to convey to you is...Arthur put a great amount of trust in you...letting you handle his wand."

That made his heart pound painfully.

"I...I know."

Deep down he knew that already. Knew it before this conversation. Before Grym. Waaay back in their first lesson and it made him feel guilty for casing it even for a hypothetical thievery.

Rhys blinked at him in surprise

" _...put a great amount of trust in you…"_

It repeated several times in his brain like a dark omen.

He snapped his suspenders nervously.

Trusted him.

"I don't mean to make you nervous" Rhys murmured "You're aware, that's all I need to know."

Alfred stared at him. God, they were painfully awkward with each other. If they weren't being verbally aggressive, they spiralled into silence.

Yet Rhys seemed oddly determined to have a conversation.

When Alfred flat out asked why since they just weren't gears with interlocking teeth that matched, Rhys answered:

"You're my nephew. I need to have a meaningful relationship with you."

He hadn't been prepared for the frankness or the sincerity.

"Why?"

"I think...I think we could both benefit from it" Rhys replied.

"..."

"...but for it to work, you'll need to want it as well."

Alfred stared down at his feet. He'd really wanted to wear his light up sneakers, but they were going to have a fancy dinner. Fancy dinners pretty much meant no comfy clothes allowed. Still, his current outfit wasn't as fancy as what he'd been photographed in...so if he ruined it dribbling sauce, it wouldn't be quite as terrible.

He felt Rhys watching him.

He twisted his hands in the cuffs of his sleeves, "You...you play a harp?"

Duh, Al. You saw it with your own eyes!

Still, it couldn't hurt to offer him something, right? His uncle was trying real hard. America was supposed to be nation that honored effort.

"I do" Rhys replied solemnly.

"I knew someone who played the harp." It wasn't a lie. Though "knew" was a strong word for a fuzzy memory.

"Oh?"

He sounded interested.

"Uhuh. Played it late at night. And we'd go...we'd go dancing in the woods around a fire."

"That so?"

"Yup." That was what he remembered. Feet dancing. Flames dancing. Dots of light dancing with them in time to the beat.

"And what did you think of that harper?"

"Huh?" Not much to be honest. He could barely remember the guy at all. "Uh...I dunno...I don't think...I really knew..." He shrugged a shoulder, "Er-probably nice. Some of my colonists were really, really nice. Ya know, when they didn't think I was weird or-"

"Was he fun to dance with?" Rhys interrupted.

Alfred stilled and then, "Hey! How'd you know it was a 'he'? Are you using your powers on me again? Is it cuz we're sitting so close and-"

When blue eyes met hazel-his mouth went dry.

Rhy knew because the 'HE' was **_him_**.

"Oh…"

Rhys gave him a sad smile, "If it was fun, we could do that again."

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Sound of Music. Amazon, Chili's, Home Depot, Wal-mart, Target, MetroCentre, Pizza Hut, McDonald's, Lego Store and Legos, Heads Up game...etc.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). I have not visited this particular Pizza Hut, but I imagine it has restrooms. Shout out to the implied mention of John White: pioneer, artist, governor, and brave soul who endured a LOT. Read up on him and you'll know why the loss of Roanoke was so devastating for him. Inappropriate reference to a person with a limp. Light exploration on gender, childrearing, and societal expectations. Arthur reflects-while not connecting the dots and seeing his own hypocrisy. Stepping on Legos-the ultimate torture.

 **Special Warning:** Features an anxiety attack.

 **AN:** Thank you for your continued interest in this story. Your reviews help keep me focused, enthused, and optimistic. Important things considering this has been a very rough span of days nationally and internationally. Stay safe everyone.

 **Chapter 36:** **Someone's Lurking**

* * *

Canada nodded absently as Texas went on and on about his last rodeo.

"Oh yeah, poor sonuvabitch got gored-there was blood everywhere. I mean absolutely-"

Mathieu winced as he watched Texas take a hearty bite of pretzel and continued on with an enthusiastic: "Like when a garbage disposal in the sink spits up, ya know?"

Thank you Texas. Mathieu won't be sleeping tonight. Really. Merci.

"Oi Tex," Jet tapped him on the shoulder with Jamaica a half step behind him.

"Yeah?" Tex answered through a mouthful.

Jamaica made a face.

"Sooo…" Jet began "Where's Alfred? I mean...it's kinda hard for the lot of us to be Team USA when he keeps avoiding us!"

Mathieu nodded. It was hard to try and make amends or show support when Alfred actively stayed out of reach. Every time Mathieu tried to sit next to him, he'd announce he had to go fetch something. By the time he'd return, all the spots in the room would fill and he'd be sitting with Arthur, Reilley, or Tex. Sometimes, he didn't come back and you'd have to wait until a mealtime to glimpse him.

Texas swallowed, "Relax Jet. Al just goes lone wolf sometimes. Means he's gotta recharge."

At their blank stares, Tex elaborated: "Don't worry. It's not bad. If it was bad he'd be on the roof. When he goes on the roof he's pretty much declaring to the world: I DON'T WANT SOCIAL CONTACT!"

And all these years, Canada thought that was his eyes playing tricks on him because he'd internalized that the roof was one of Alfred's favorite hiding spots when they were little.

"But that's not what he's doin.' Lookee there. He's just window shopping."

Sure enough, Alfred was ogling a display. At which point Arthur approached and ruffled his hair and gestured to the entrance.

Mathieu sighed. He could've done that. Could've walked up and...why was he having so much trouble reaching out?

He'd discussed it with Texas-confessing that he thought it had something to do with how Alfred always seemed to be center stage and it was hard to get near him because of that.

Texas had nodded knowingly and then said "Yup, and he'll keep performing until you show him he can sit in the audience with you."

"Pourquoi?"

"Cuz you guys are always nagging him to perform some goddamn miracle when he's around. You know what I'm talkin' bout. The whole 'you think you're so great, well prove it!' mentality. And so he tries. And when he does succeed y'all will want it bigger, better, and more entertaining the next time around. _**He**_ knows _**I**_ don't need all that."

Mathieu couldn't help feeling a stab of envy at that remark. Things seemed so simple for them.

He shook his head in rebuke. No, they both worked to keep things simple between them. So they didn't end up in messes like Alfred and Mathieu were in now.

He sighed-watching from afar as Alfred grinned, grabbed Arthur's hand, and jubilantly led them in.

"Quick!" Texas hissed-startling the nations around him "There's your chance Team. Go! Go! Go! Al loves the LEGO store!

Australia and Jamaica sprinted to it-dragging Jake, who'd just arrived with a frozen yogurt cup, with them.

Mathieu hesitated between following them or staying with Tex, "Aren't...you...?"

"Nah, I hate Legos" Texas declared as he dipped his pretzel into a little cup of nacho sauce.

Mathieu's jaw dropped "But-but-but-"

"You ever stagger downstairs at 2 am and step on one? Because Al and Molossia decided it was a good idea to recreate New York City in the kitchen? It was bad enough stepping on the one. Then I tripped and fell and got shanked by the Empire State Building…in the eye. Yeah...guess who got to go on a hap-hap-happy trip to the ER? I _**hate**_ Legos!"

Canada took a deep breath of relief when Tex changed gears (his volume had been steadily increasing as he trash talked the toy-earning them odd stares from passersby). He then started talking about Christmas traditions and how they'd need to find a diner with good pie and Mathieu was pretty sure he knew a place that could work.

* * *

"Sooo...cash, card, hold-my-hand-and-point-it-out-to-me, or roulette wheel?" Alfred asked Tex as he leaned over the table to pull an extra cheesy slice of pizza courtesy of Pizza Hut.

Ya know for a British Mall, there sure were a lot of American fastfood places! Not that Alfred was complaining. It was nice having little pieces of home scattered here. He sure wished there more Christmas decorations though. Way too conservative in his opinion.

Still, British Pizza Hut did not disappoint. So yummy.

Arthur said he wanted them to have an easy lunch at the mall and then that night he'd made a reservation for them at some fancy French restaurant Alfred couldn't pronounce the name of (and didn't want to try for fear of getting it wrong in front of everybody). When Alfred asked why they were doing French food (since it would no doubt inspire grumbles of 'That blasted frog' all night long, Arthur surprised him by explaining without rancor that many of his wards had French influences and it was only right and fair to acknowledge it now and then.

Unfortunately, Alfred was fresh out of eloquence at the moment and responded with a short "Oh. Um. Okay."

Arthur just smiled and ruffled his hair.

He could've easily turned that into a lecture moment-could've raised a bushy eyebrow and condemned him for a lack of geographical and historical knowledge and Al would probably have deserved it but...but he didn't.

And that combined with the photo shoot, and the LEGO store, and how he didn't freak out when Alfred got bored earlier and started playing hot lava with certain tiles on the floor. The girls just took for friggin' ever looking at clothes and Tex kept hanging with Canada-he had to do something to keep himself entertained!

Arthur just drew the line at him hiding in clothes racks and even then...he'd been more amused than angry. And he sat him on his lap and had them play _Heads Up_ with their phones.

He kept being so _**nice**_...and it made Alfred's heart balloon with a dangerous amount of hope.

He risked a glance his father's way and flushed when Arthur caught him looking.

His father smiled and his insides went as gooey as the cheese on their pizzas.

Personally, Alfred was really relieved for an easy schmeezy fast foody lunch. Cuz he didn't think he could handle two uptight places with white table cloths and fine porcelain plates and hushed conversations and-ugh.

It made his nerves buzz just imagining it.

He just...wasn't at his best. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't sick. But nonetheless he felt...off. Like rushing up an unstable staircase during a high risk infiltration mission that was slowly detaching from the wall and there wasn't anything to grab onto. He took a deep breath. It was just anxiety. All day he'd been having clusters of little anxiety attacks. Nothing bad was gonna happen, he promised himself. _Calm down_ , he ordered himself, but the feelings persisted.

"What's easier for you?" Texas asked.

Alfred took a gloriously cheesy bite and tried to focus on the tasty food and not on the swirl of feelings going on inside him, "Card."

"Kay. How 'bout...Amazon, Chili's, Home Depot or Target. Any o' those are good. What about you? Whatchuwant? We aren't goin' to a musical. Card or Roulette or-"

He shrugged a shoulder "Wal-Mart card is fine. They got tons of stuff."

Arthur scoffed and muttered something that sounded like "rather impersonal."

"Nuh uh" Alfred refuted "I just wanna make sure that when he gets something for Christmas, it's something he really wants. And not something I think he should want, ya know?"

Arthur's frown conveyed disapproval and yet Alfred felt glad this conversation was happening now. It let him know without a doubt that Arthur definitely wanted something more sentimental and that he hadn't appreciated the gift cards he'd sent him in the past. A pity cuz those were just so easy to pick up and send. Postage costs could be a real pain in the butt.

Though what he should give the old man eluded him. He pretty much already had everything neat under the sun, and the new technology that Alfred could give him with television and phones and stuff wasn't always appreciated. Cuz he was one of those old geezers that didn't want to read the owner's manual and would complain that a device "didn't work." Alfred had lost track of all the times he'd spent in meetings, having to help the old man troubleshoot his laptop or phone. Or he'd have to make a house call to straighten out Arthur's fax machine or dishwasher or whatever. Sometimes the stuff had looked downright sabotaged-leading him to wonder what Arthur did to them in his spare time.

So...he had to pick something sentimental...but what?

He racked his brain. He could probably get him a fancy blank book for pressing flowers, but that might be too gushy. Arthur might interpret that as an invitation for them to go wander fields like "Sound of Music" style and that everything between them was hunky-dory when…

When…

While things were definitely improving...

Alfred reached to for more parmesan cheese packets when-

"Alfred, you can't just keep reaching across my plate every time you want seasoning or extra cheese" Seychelles frowned and snatched his wrist-holding it firmly, "Ask me and I'll pass it to you. I-"

" _Dyami" Osha sighed-her grip on his wrist tightening. He frowned up at her-squinting against the sunlight filtering through the trees._

 _She held out her free hand-gesturing for him to hand over the string of white beads. Roanoke: Cheap beads crafted from white shells. They were only good for trade if you had a bulk of them._

" _Dyami" her voice lowered in pitch warningly when he refused to comply._

 _But he liked making necklaces and bracelets out of them. White. As white as the flesh on his underarms and belly. And they shared a name!_

 _She gripped his other elbow tightly and pulled him forward-tutting when he struggled, "How disobedient. Do you want Oniate to come after you?"_

Seychelles gently released him, "Alfred? Are you alright?" She rested a hand against his forehead, "You look a little-"

He flinched away at the sudden contact and whatever Seychelles said next was drowned out.

" _What an ill-tempered scamp!" England declared-grabbing his young colony around his middle and hefting him from the room for making Barbados cry._

 _He set Alfred down hard on the bed._

" _I'm NOT sorry!" little Alfred hissed-still feeling victorious for smashing Olivia's precious porcelain doll. She was so mean to him! She deserved it! Making fun of him for only having tobacco and insisting it made him smell bad and pinching him when the adults weren't looking!_

" _Is that so? Then you can stay in here until you are. Let us hope you are sorry by breakfast."_

 _Tears gathered in his eyes. He'd have no dinner then. No desserts either. No tarts or pastries._

" _Bad things happen to badly behaved children, you know? Bogeymen like them best."_

 _The door closed with an authoritative click._

But that wasn't true. Not really. Because bad things had already happened...already ...happened…

His head twinged.

...and he hadn't even done anything to deserve them!

 _Sarah's grip on his throat tightened-her fingers were cold and knobbly and wet with rain._

 _And he knew then-could feel it in her hands. Hands that used to hold him so gently..._

 _She didn't love him anymore._

 _All those hours they'd spent together and...just...like...that...her love ended..._

" _May God have mercy even for monsters."_

Alfred pushed his chair back from the table with a loud scrape.

Away. He needed-away. Away. Away.

His heart pounded loud in his ears.

"Alfred?"

Away.

"Baby bro?"

"Sweet, what's wr-"

Away to somewhere safe.

 _Green eyes stared down at him coldly as Alfred touched his stinging cheek in shock._

 _Not allowed to question the Empire. Not allowed to distrust their-no-_ _ **his**_ _-king._

 _He stared blankly at Arthur's hands-they were...they were s'posed to be different...those hands weren't supposed to...hurt him…_

And the hurt spread-connecting to other hurts and sowing itself deep in the dark cold void and-surely there had to be a way to take that hurt away?

Surely someone knew how? Someone knew how to keep his world from ending?

His old nightmare from months ago flickered in front of his eyes and his surroundings turned hazy.

 _ **Don't**_ _...the frail lisping whisper of a shy child floated on the breeze. Pwease don't…_

 _ **Don't! Don't!**_ _The plea became a wail._

Tugging on a daffodil-no! Tugging on a-a-a memory...and...

 _As he pulled, the world around him began to crack into shards._

 _He gave a mighty heave and the roots came up-_

Alfred bumped hard into someone who crashed into a table during the American's desperate attempt to get to the men's restroom.

Guilt seeped in at the sound of glasses and plates and cutlery falling and the cumulative cries of dismay.

 **Stop. For your own sake, Alfred, just stop. Let it alone.**

But how could he fix what he didn't understand?

And there was Arthur and Rhys to think of! And their sad faces when he didn't remember things he was supposed to.

Back in the bus, Rhys...his face seemed so...

Nononono, Alfred needed to remember! He had to be brave!

 **...then do so...at your own peril...**

" _Ah me. So yeh know what I am? Do yeh boy?" the old man chuckled. "I wondered."_

" _I may not…see so well anymore…but I can still hear" Alfred assured holding the barn lantern somewhat defensively as he descended into the cellar. "And if you would listen…I…I would-"_

" _The gift o' sight must run in your family. Even if it's faded in you."_

 _His family…_

 _Alfred's jaw tightened. His family was the reason he was here._

" _I've…a wish" he heard himself say as he nervously adjusted his uniform._

"' _Course you do" the old man scoffed "Don't you all? And in great numbers!"_

He couldn't quite remember what happened next.

Only the old man's incredulous voice...

" _Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" the old man asked from the darkness. He almost sounded afraid. "What yer askin' me for?"_

The stench of burning wood and flesh and land and-

He was close! He was so damn close and-and-and he barely made it to a urinal-retching violently in it.

* * *

England jumped over the fallen human man with a soft and somewhat insincere "sorry."

America had barely touched the human, if anything it was the man's own momentum (he'd been afraid of crushing a child) that caused his tumble and-oh bugger it all, he didn't have time to worry about him!

Alfred was having another panic attack (far worse than the one he'd had in McDonald's) and concern flooded every fiber of Arthur's being. Their bond was practically electrifying the Briton.

He pushed into the Gent's room and found Alfred sniffling and muttering to himself.

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the puddle of sick in the nearest urinal. Clearly, the boy just couldn't make it over to a toilet. He'd tell management about it after he had the boy calmed down.

"Sweet?"

The child rubbed a sleeved arm across his eyes, "I..I'm s-sorry-I-"

"Wha-no need to be sorry" Arthur hastily assured.

"I tried not to make a mess. I didn't get any on me. I just...I started remembering and-and-I just need a minute and I'll-"

Arthur's mouth went dry, "W-what did you remember?"

Was he remembering segments of his imprisonment with Iroquois and Yamasee? Just thinking on it abstractly for any length of time, could easily inspire a desire to spew as far as Arthur was concerned.

"Well, I remembered what my name meant and I re-remembered…"

Alfred's lips trembled and his eyes filled up and he twisted the bottom of his shirt, "I remembered...that she...and it shouldn't matter. Cuz it was so long ago and I feel like a big baby for being so...it was forever ago but-but-"

Arthur calmly unrolled some toilet paper and used a wad of it to gently wipe at the child's mouth before tossing it.

"...she…"

He rested his hands on Alfred's shoulders, slid them down to the elbows and then back up. It was an action his mother had done long ago and it always seemed to help calm her children. His little ones were no different. When little Barbados and little Jamaica had one of their squabbles, he'd often found himself having to soothe them until they could articulate their point of contention.

He mmhmmed thoughtfully as he rubbed the boy's shoulders. When Alfred was ready to speak, he was ready to listen.

"...she...didn't...love me…"

His hands froze as a wave of shock and sympathy crashed through him with almost frightening intensity.

Good God.

Iroquois.

His child had the dreaded epiphany. The one Arthur had been bracing himself for each time Alfred started to question his experience.

It hit. It finally hit.

He knew eventually it would all add up and overwhelm the poor child.

Her malicious plan. Her objectification of Alfred. Her willingness to sacrifice the boy's physical and emotional health for her own benefit.

"Why...why couldn't she love me?"

His heart twisted.

"O Sweetheart-" he cupped the boy's face.

"How could she d-do that to me? She talked and played and fed and cared and-and-and-"

He immediately picked the little one up and swayed gently from foot to foot, "It will be alright."

"I...I dunno what I coulda done differently!" the boy's voice wavered pitifully.

"Oh my Sweet, Sweet boy don't think that way. You did nothing wrong. Not a thing."

"...threw me away" he blubbered into Arthur's collar.

Arthur hugged him tightly.

He'd known. He'd known for a while now that Alfred weeding her out would have serious consequences.

It was one thing to decry her as estranged and dangerous.

It was another thing entirely to actively remove her from the pedestal of parental figure and role model. He knew it would leave a hole in the boy's heart.

But Father was here. Father was here and he had every intention of mending his poor little lamb's heart.

"I'm here" he murmured "I'm right here."

"I don't understand" Alfred hiccupped "why it hurts so much, when it-it-it happened so long ago."

Gracious, it was barely a month! Alfred was expecting far too much from his coping abilities.

Alfred pulled back to look him in the face, "W-why couldn't Sarah love me?"

Oh...

He blinked.

 _ **That**_ was what this was about? That woman. That damned woman. Who was so fucking lucky to have died centuries ago or England would've dropped her arse off a cliff himself.

"Cuz she was crazy Little Brother" Tex declared as he entered the men's room.

"D-don't say that. I knew her! She-she wasn't a bad person; she just made a bad decis-"

"Uh…" Texas raised an eyebrow, "She kinda chucked a baby off a cliff. That's kinda the definition of a bad pers-"

"-sounds really bad when you phrase it like-"

"I mean, she didn't try to eat you. So I guess we can't say she was a wholly evil baby-eating creepster...like someone else we met...but she was pretty damn clo-"

"-it was a different time then and-"

"-and it's made worse by the fact that you saved her ungrateful colonial ass and-"

"Daddy, do you think she was bad?"

Blue eyes stared intently at him.

It took so much restraint not to unleash a tidal wave of profanity. Victoria would've been proud of him.

"..."

"...Dad?"

 _Blue eyes went wide with realization._

" _Oh…"_

 _He stopped struggling and let his hands fall from his neck._

 _Woman and child shared one last look as she held him over a turbulent sea._

 _Alfred gave a small, sad smile._

 _And she let him go._

"...She _**hurt**_ you."

And he'd never forgive it.

 _He hit._

 _Headfirst...on a dark rock protruding from the water. Blood splattered everywhere as the_

 _little head flattened. And then the waves crashed over him and he was gone._

Never.

"See?" Texas insisted "Even England's on my side. And that just doesn't happen any old day."

"Dude...y-your face looks all scary..." Alfred informed him-hesitantly poking at his cheek. "Are you...mad?"

 _Not quite dear,_ he thought, _but at this rate…_

"No...I'm not angry, I-I-rather-" He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to force himself to relax. "…no…I...I AM angry, appalled really…but-but it's on your behalf. I will never condone her behavior-I-I..."

"O-oh," Alfred rested his head against Arthur's collarbone. "So...you don't think I could've done anything different and gotten a different res-"

No; they were NOT going to play the 'What If' game.

"You did nothing wrong."

He was a child who'd trusted an adult who, up until that point, he'd felt safe with. The blame lay with her for not living up to that great amount of innocent faith.

Alfred nodded and exhaled, "I still feel...my insides are all…"

"Alfred, you've gone through...quite a lot. Anxiety is a perfectly natural respon-"

Little fingers curled into Arthur's shirt, "And now I'm gonna have to go back out there...and I'm getting all...panicky again. Geez, I'm gonna have to pass that guy I bumped into and...gah! It's sooo embarrassing! Why'd I have to freak out?! And everybody at the table was...there and I...I-in front of ev-and-what if something really bad happens now? What if I go out there right now and everybody's watching and they-they've-"

"-Somehow got pitchforks in the five minutes you've been in here?" Tex asked wryly.

"Stop teasing me Texas! I do not appreciate your lack of-"

"And in France they're burnin' cars! Cuz you dared to throw up in this fine establishment! You fiend! Cuz we know this place has _**never**_ encountered such a phenomena before and-"

"Stop it! I mean it or I'll-"

"Well let's just address the worst-case scenario then shall we?" the brunet levelled a completely serious look at his younger brother "A wendigo is gonna spring outta that there toilet over yonder with a brochure on Communism and a jar of marmite."

"..."

Arthur was blissfully grateful for the loud unplanned laughter in his ear, even if it was at the expense of one of his favorite foods.

* * *

Texas watched the drama unfold with a bored eye.

He gave a sideways glance to the gaggle trailing just behind him-all clucking like a bunch of hens during feeding time.

Seychelles bit her lip and tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear, "I just-I feel terrible I mean if I had known, I wouldn't have-did you see, how he looked at me? I just...I mean, I read Arthur's email but-"

"I know mon! Gender wasn't disclosed! Makes me wonder: what else did he leave out?"

"Iroquois was a woman" Barbados murmured "I wouldn't have-"

Reilley frowned and cut in, "So yeh thought it had to be a man, hm? I mean yes, the other one involved was a man, but-"

"It's just unusual" Seychelles replied "Mothering...er _nurturing_ instincts are usually considered an ingrained part of the female sphere and for her to just...bypass them...Canada said he was kept sedated! And restrained-with belts!"

There were murmurs of disgust and disapproval.

"Nature versus Nurture" Hong Kong commented. "How much is the result of evolutionary incentive, how much is the result of societal pressure?"

"Well, it's just a fact that men are more aggressive" Seychelles insisted to the nods of the other women "Women are communicators. We're better in touch with our emotions which in turn allows us to network with others. It makes us successful caregivers and-"

Reilley raised a bushy eyebrow, "You're seriously going to argue that? When you've got _**that**_ right in front of your eyes!?"

Tex along with the rest followed the Irishman's pointing finger to where Arthur was carrying a sleeping Alfred and looking like a poster boy for domesticated male-dom.

"When ya lived that?" Reilley insisted.

"Well, my upbringing wasn't all roses" Seychelles argued.

Barbados shrugged. "Michelle...you were older when-you know, and India wasn't a child either. But Pip and I were raised practically since infancy and we can-"

From what Tex observed, Arthur had a tendency to baby all of his wards-particularly the ones he'd taken in as ankle biters.

Arthur smiled as he spoke with Jet and Jake. They'd paused beside the bottom of a staircase, so the rest of their group could catch up.

Arthur nodded at whatever Jet said, and then rested his head atop of Alfred's.

Maybe there was some truth to that belief about first impressions and the way you first met someone was how you thought of them no matter what.

The ones Arthur met as children, remained children in his eyes.

Hell, if Tex was honest, he wasn't so different; Al would always be a gungho, baby faced sixteen year old to him.

And so they just had different expectations of Alfred…

While he supported his brother, always, he just didn't feel the need to nag and coddle him.

England thought differently.

After throwing up his lunch, his brother had been reluctant to eat again despite Arthur's many attempts to get him a new meal. Heck, his apathy wore the old Brit down until he was promoting McDonald's. But even Mcnuggets weren't enough to entice Alfred.

Tex had let it go after two turn downs. Arthur needed twelve.

Gradually, Alfred exhausted himself as their group wandered in and out of stores. He started bumping into stuff which prompted Reilley to give him a piggyback ride. When Alfred dozed off, Arthur demanded Reilley to hand him over.

Tex would have just given Al the keys and let him sleep it all off in the bus, but...Arthur insisted on toting him around himself.

Earlier in his European vacation, he'd complained about England's bossy behavior to Spain. But his father waved it off.

" _It's as much for his own sake as for Alfred's" Spain explained as he muted the volume of the television and turned away from the soccer match-shocking Romano and Feliciano. He was pretty hardcore when it came to the sport._

" _But!"_

" _Mijo. He's establishing an environment: Protector y Protegido."_

" _But Al doesn't need him to play Prot-"_

" _ **Everyone**_ _needs to feel safe, mijo. If child does not feel safe with Padre, Padre has failed."_

Tex's cheeks heated up. THAT had segued into a very awkward public conversation regarding Tex's childhood. Spain had started getting so damn emotional, it was a relief when Romano cut it short.

"Anomaly" Alistair barked-harshly enough it startled Tex.

"Lys" Reilley sighed.

"Nope. I don't want the likes of him being taken as a representative of mankind. We can do better, I know it."

"But why weren't we told?" Barbados asked "We were left to just assume-"

"Yeah, well you know what happens when you _'assume'_?" Tex remarked flippantly "You make an ass out of you and m-"

"You've been eagerly waiting for an opportunity to say that" Barbados rolled her eyes.

"Hell yeah, I was. All o' you only thought you knew what an obnoxious American was like. Al's polite. I'm gonna show you the real deal-"

"Please don't."

"Too late!"

* * *

Alfred came to just as Arthur told Rhys in a hushed voice: "Mr. White should arrive with the car any time" He readjusted his hold on Alfred. "It's just too much for him right now, poor little fellow. I'm going to take him home. Hopefully, he'll regain his appetite in a more relaxed setting."

Alfred was a little disappointed because there'd been a tiny sliver of possibility that he might've made it through without humiliating himself.

But he mostly felt relieved he wouldn't have to go, though it didn't seem fair that Arthur now seemed to feel he wasn't allowed to go either.

"That's unnecessary" Rhys replied "Go to the restaurant. I can take Alfred-"

"No. It's what I've been waiting for. He's started remembering things; Sarah par example. Wretched woman. Who knows what'll come next? And I've yet to approve your methods. You're much too harsh with him."

He carefully held Alfred while pulling out his wallet, "Here; that should be more than enough. If not, I'll repay you."

Alfred blinked at the rustling sound of money changing hands.

Arthur pocketed the wallet and changed the subject to Boxing Day.

Alfred listened curiously; he knew of it, but had never really attended one. If he remembered right, he started hearing about it in the tail end of the 19th Century.

December 26 was usually known to him as the dreaded "Holiday Over" day...and he had to head back into work...where stacks of paper were waiting to ambush him.

He yawned and rubbed his eye.

"Oho. Look who's rejoined us? Feeling better, poppet?"

"Little bit…"

He was tired and sluggish and sad…

Sarah…

She'd been the first to welcome him. Had sewn his gown by altering a man's shirt. The man who'd given it had been very interested in him-often drawing Alfred's portrait along with the natives of the area. But Sarah was the one who talked and cooked and played with him.

The man was nice.

She was nicer.

Until she wasn't…

"What's wrong, dear?"

A lot.

"Just…"

Green eyes watched him hawkishly. Arthur reached one careful hand up to brush hair out of Alfred's face.

A gentle touch…

It was easy to be tricked by things like that.

Or rather…

To trust too easily because of things like that.

How long would the care last this time?

"Did you remember something more?" Arthur asked.

He was hesitant to share. What if bringing up the slap popped the happy bubble they were in right now?

What if that subconscious warning voice was right?

What if he was better off _**not**_ remembering?

But damn he was curious.

What the hell had he been up to in that basement?

"Alf-"

"You…you don't need to come with me. You can go with them. I don't wanna break your traditions. I can ride solo."

It was the safest option. Arthur would get to stay with his wards and have quality time with them. They all deserved that. And Alfred could use the time alone to explore the new footpaths branching out of memory lane.

"Nonsense" Arthur smiled and nuzzled their noses "I would just worry and pester you with phone calls."

That sent a sharp zing through his heart. Because...he just seemed so genuine in his concern.

And maybe he really was but…it was so much easier to lock a door than to open it and risk letting in something you shouldn't.

And yet...he couldn't find any solace in his decision the way he used to.

Because Arthur was trying really hard to make things better between them…

He rested his head back on Arthur's shoulder and watched as Sealand and Wy raced each other up and down some stairs.

Arthur rubbed gentle circles into his back until his cell vibrated, "Oh! Time for us to go now, Sweet."

Arthur cleared his throat loudly to get everyone's attention, "Yes, well; as you know it's been a long day. Alfred and I will be returning to the house. The reservation is still at 8. Be on your best behavior. Enjoy yourselves. Try not to indulge too much on the dessert menu! And I'll see you late tonight."

"Yup!" Texas nodded "It's time to put chairs in the wagon! Let's go."

"Tex…" Alfred murmured. "You…you don't hafta…"

He was getting along so well with everybody. Alfred didn't want to ruin things for him.

"Nah, it's good. It'll give me a chance to talk with Grey. I mean, I get that it is easier cleaning stuff at night so all of us aren't underfoot. But some guy with a limp keeps hanging out in the hallway by my room. Gimpy needs to find some other time to clean there. Gives me the heebie jeebies knowin' someone's lurking-"

Arthur frowned "That is not an appropriate way to address someone with a possible disabi-"

"I don't have _**time**_ to be appropriate. I-"

"Ya know what there's always time for?" Jet interrupted with a grin. "A drumroll. Quick Jake!"

New Zealand clapped his hands against his quads for effect.

"Time to appreciate Lady Lego Liberty! Ta da!" he announced revealing a large box he'd been toting incognito in one of the girl's clothing bags.

Alfred released a squeal of delight and immediately made 'gimme' hands.

Gah! He'd been wanting one of those for ages!

"And I think tonight's a good night to put our Lego hard hats on. So we'll be coming too!" Australia declared gesturing to himself, Jake, and Pippa.

Alfred felt his cheeks heat up. Wha…?

"That's no fair!" Sealand screeched from the top of the stairs. "That's-that's-it's not even Christmas yet and you're...you're going to give him a present for-for what? Spewing? For napping? For-"

"Peter" Arthur intoned ominously "Come here."

"N-no" he stamped a foot.

"Peter."

The boy crossed his arms and sulked, "And now you're not even coming with us. You're going with him. Why don't you just give him a button with 'Favorite' on it, huh?"

"Peter, I will not tolerate such insolence. Come here and apologize."

Sealand's face went red and blotchy-his eyes filled with angry tears.

Scotland rolled his eyes, "The barnacle strikes once more."

Reilley motioned for Wy to come stand with him-away from the standoff.

Rhys dialed Mr. White on his phone to confirm what entrance they wanted Mr. White to wait near.

Arthur sighed and handed Alfred to Texas and that was when it happened.

When Arthur's back was turned...

Alfred's eyes widened.

There.

Out of Sealand's shadow-a long clawed arm shot out and shoved the kid's feet off the top step.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

* * *

Read and Review Please! : DDD

And I hope everyone has a good, happy, and safe weekend.

O and beware of Wendigo proffering pamphlets.


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or any Hallmark Movies. Or Lifetime Movies. Or any of the following: Apples to Apples, Sorry!, The Animals of Farthing Wood, Doctor Who, Monopoly, Pacific Rim, Princess Bride, SmartTV, Wizard of Oz, FaceTime, Facebook, Lego, or Youtube, etc.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). More amateur adventures into languages I don't speak fluently! Joking about drinking games. Canada is tipsy and overprotective. Scotland sleeps it off. Reilley pitches a fit. Rhys connects the dots. Tex is apprehensive. Arthur is oblivious. And Alfred doesn't realize he's in over his head. Tarot Card: The Tower. PIRA. Special Housing Unit (SHU): solitary confinement in American prisons. Familial dysfunction junction...and Grym who plays on it all. Occasional potshots at Russia.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! I reread them often to keep me motivated! : DDD I managed to crank this chap out for you guys since I got such an awesome amount of feedback and interest. (Think good thoughts for me! Got an early morning exam tomorrow and Morning is my arch nemesis XD). Hope you enjoy the chapter and that you all have a great weekend! Let the avalanche fall!

 **Chapter 37: Poor Friend**

* * *

Before Alfred could even get a word of alarm out; Arthur spun around at Sealand's cry, leapt up several steps, lurched forward and caught the kid-before the two tumbled down hard.

Which was pretty hardcore heroic in Al's book.

Alfred winced as Arthur's ankle hit against a planter box.

If it had been an Olympic event, Russia would've docked points for that.

There was a moment of stunned delay and then everyone sprang forward to assist.

While their group ringed around the two bushy browed blonds, Alfred glanced back up for any trace of Grym.

But he was gone.

Tex promptly set him down on his feet-no doubt expecting him to spring into action but…

Rhys already had it covered with the First Aid kit he carried in his man purse. Reilley and Arthur were calming Peter down with soft words and questions. Alistair was getting everyone to back off and give them some air.

And Alfred was just superfluous.

He studied the warning labels on his Lego Box-advising him to avoid swallowing the pieces.

It took a while before Peter stopped blubbering. His eye sprinklers went on for a bonus round when it was decided that he should go back to the manor with the rest of them since he was bruised and scraped up-his shirt and slacks had ripped during the fall.

Arthur looked pretty rough too.

Barbados promised they'd bring something tasty back for Peter.

It bothered Alfred all the way to the parking lot and into Mr. White's waiting car.

No such promise was made to Alfred and it was a stupid petty thing for a hero to get hung up over.

He was supposed to be horrified over Grym's assault of a little kid and instead...

He hugged his Lego box and tried to ignore the depressing sounds of Sealand sniffling and England consoling and Tex's attention focusing on them and trying to get them to laugh.

Well…

If Peter had hoped to eclipse Alfred's drama with his own...mission accomplished.

He was essentially forgotten.

England hadn't mentioned the absent booster seat even once and nobody checked to make sure he was buckled in safely.

Which was…

Good.

Yeah, it was good.

Alfred was a big strong nation. He didn't need to be babied...unlike Peter who Jet gave a piggy back ride out of the mall.

Arthur probably would've carried the kid out himself, but he was limping.

Not a lot...but a little…

And it must've hurt enough to make him cranky cuz he held Alfred's hand way too hard when they left.

The drive was uncomfortable since he didn't really know what to do with himself. Should he prepare to be interrogated over what he remembered? Or was he on his own?

Was his panic attack shelved because someone younger and more vulnerable than him took priority?

Or maybe it was the nature of their situations.

Peter was physically hurt-which ultimately was simpler to treat. It made him an easier problem to tackle and get out of the way.

Alfred was...screwed up in the...well...in the head…

Who knew when he was gonna get better? People were going to need breaks from him or they were going to suffer some serious burnout.

Still, the highlight of the ride home was listening to Mr. White ordering take out for them; they had such a long list of stuff! And the deadpan way he'd say "No" whenever the employee asked "If that was all" was just hilarious!

Arthur barely seemed to notice him as they ate-he wasn't corrected even once with regards to manners.

He accepted that the night was then his to do with as he wished.

Sadly, his plans were thwarted.

Not two seconds after crossing the threshold, he'd rushed to the Drawing Room ready to salvage his day chanting "Lady Lego Liberty!"

But just as he picked a great spot, his beloved Lego box was snatched out of his hands and set on a bookshelf out of his reach!

Arthur told him in no uncertain terms that _**that**_ was the last thing they needed right now. And that he needed to change out of his nice clothes.

Sure Jet, Jake, Pippa, and Tex played _Apples to Apples_ and _Sorry!_ While Arthur and Peter had a discussion on the couch. But halfway through _Monopoly_ , they grew more interested in watching the television than losing to him.

"C'mon Al, be a trooper" Tex muttered out of the side of his mouth, but Sealand had put on _Pacific Rim_ and Al just couldn't resist poking fun at it. He giggled over how drunk someone would get if he took a shot every time the name "Mako" was called out…

Unfortunately, everybody was in Prude Mode and he ended up hurting Peter's feelings and got everybody irritated with him.

England snapped that if he didn't have anything nice to say…

He recognized a dismissal when he heard one, so he headed off to the kiddie TV room. His own personal SHU. He sat himself in the rocking chair, and tried to watch _The Animals of Farthing Wood,_ but it was hella depressing and he had to switch it off.

He set a blanket down and took to coloring. Not in any of England's books. But on blank computer paper. Cuz he didn't feel like looking at anything that reminded him of England right now.

Stealing his Legos…

His caterpillar eyebrows probably demanded a sacrifice now and then!

He sniffled and slammed his marker down.

"Dammit" he muttered as it rolled under the couch.

He reached around for it but-

The unnerving moist feeling of someone breathing and GAH!

He snatched his hand back.

God! Grym could be so creepy!

He frowned and stuck his face near the gap to better glare at the dark space beneath.

"Ya know...that was really mean. What you did back there...Peter's just a stupid kid. You didn't have to hurt him."

 _And ruin his evening...and mine..._

"...special...new friend...we watch out...for our friends…"

It was a little shameful...how much pleasure that gave him. Usually people came to his defense on account of politics or firepower.

To choose him...just for the sake of friendship...

"Thanks. But next time, don't be so mean, kay?"

There was a knock and the door opened.

His heart twinged.

Was Arthur coming to apologize?

For being mean?

"Oi Al, you...in here?" Tex asked.

Of course not.

"Oh! Uh, yup." He rolled away to face the door.

Tex entered with a disapproving frown, "All holed up here like a hermit when-"

It figured that **that** was the moment Grym chose to roll the marker back.

"¡Qué mierda!"

It was amazing how Tex could go from zero to freaked-out-of-his-mind in 2.1 seconds.

"The fuck is under there?"

While it was tempting to try and lie and say the floor was just sloped and "demonstrate" cuz he was sure Grym would play ball-this was Tex.

He deserved the truth.

"It's my friend. The one I told you about. It's okay Grym. This is my Big Brother Texas. He's cool-"

"Your friend who…" Tex swallowed "hides under furniture?"

"Yeah, he likes dark places" Alfred chirped.

"Oh?"

"Yup, and he likes eating chicken bones! He says they're almost as good as the real thing. Whatever that means. So we can make it a point to try and find him some in the next couple days, right?"

"...eats bones...kay" Tex adjusted his hat "Hey Al? Who else has met your...special friend there?"

"Just you, Bro! Grym's kinda shy. Aren't cha Grym?"

"..."

"Awww, come on. You're making me sound like I'm crazy and I'm just talking to myself. C'mon on out, won't you?"

"Al…"

"Oh! Right, right! The lights!"

He jumped up and raced around turning out lights.

"Al!?" Tex's voice got higher pitched.

"If it's too bright, he won't want to come out" Alfred explained.

Dude, they could put on a hell of a puppet show with the three of them.

Oooh! They could make a fort too! A good one! And maybe they could even play Truth or Dare or something!

Alfred beamed as one corner of the room got darker and darker and darker and a form started to mater-

"Oof!"

Tex threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour and sprinted all the way down to the Drawing Room.

He burst into the room causing Pippa to gasp and slap Tex on the shoulder, "Jesus mon! Scarin' the daylights outta me."

"Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! There-there!"

The Briton scowled "You only have one volume, don't you? And its: Earsplitting."

Arthur turned to glower at Tex as he carded his fingers through Peter's hair. The boy had his head pillowed on Arthur's lap and was studiously avoiding looking at Alfred.

Two bushy brows shot up as Arthur noticed him.

"Stop carrying him that way, you'll cause all the blood to rush to his head! Here Sweet, you can sit here with me" Arthur moved pillows away from his "unoccupied" side.

"Art...I really think-"

"Tex" Alfred murmured "S'okay."

"..."

"Tex?"

"Careful! Be careful you brute!" Arthur hissed as the Texan set Alfred down hard.

Tex's way of saying _'Fine. I'll keep a lid on it. But I don't like it one bit.'_

Yeah. Until Grym made a good impression, it was best not to mention the boat. Or Sealand's accident. Or the...the...well...friendly stalking?

Arthur wrapped an arm around Alfred, "Now, Peter? Don't you have something to tell him?"

Sealand sighed and crossed his arms, but he did crane his neck to look up at Alfred, "I...I'm sorry Alfred. Arthur and Jet and...and everybody explained some stuff and...They said it wasn't that they were trying to-to "exclude" me...it was that they were trying to "include" you. You haven't really gotten any presents until now...and I think that's just...They...said we have to work hard to make sure you know that you're…welcome and..."

An awkward pause began and then Sealand sat up. He shuffled on his knees to turn around and face him. Suddenly he blurted, "Is that why you keep running away? You hardly play anything with us and you stick around Arthur all the time and you...run off and you hide and you're just…do you feel left out? So you just do your own thing? Huh? Is that it?"

"Peter" Arthur said warningly as he held Alfred tighter. His old man was smart to do so because Alfred's fight or flight response was urging him to run and avoid this uncomfortable conversation.

"I...I know how that feels" Peter admitted "I don't get included in any meetings and no one will recognize me as my own official nation. Hardly anybody knows me when I wait for you guys or for Sweden to finish talking with your governments...and-and-none of the staff really know you here, do they? It sucks. I'm sorry I...helped make you feel like that. Alfred?"

His heart made him uncomfortable and his brain focused all its attention on how his shoes were super cool. He clacked the heels and while they did light up...they didn't send him home...

He pressed in tighter against Arthur's side. Maybe if he pressed in deep enough everybody would stop looking at him.

Cuz he only wanted people to look at him if he was doing something incredible not when-not when...

He buried his face into Arthur's vest.

If everyone could just leave him alone for five seconds to "buck up." If they could just stop staring...

"There, there" Arthur murmured-pulling him onto his lap and stroking the back of Alfred's hair soothingly.

Hesitant fingers joined in-patting in a clumsy mimicry "I'm sorry I've been hurting your feelings...guess I _**am**_ a Jerkland Jr."

Dammit.

He sniffled.

Dammit.

"I think he's crying" Peter remarked in a loud whisper.

"I think you're right" Tex replied candidly-not bothering to lower his voice at all.

"Damn you Tex!" Alfred choked out.

"Now, now" Arthur cut in.

"Quick everybody!" the Texan rallied "While he's incapacitated!"

Thus, Alfred suffered a somewhat humiliating (partially appreciated) group hug (during which Tex had the audacity to tell him: "Yup. You're not escaping this. It's happening. Feel that awkward love.")

Not long after that, England brought the Lego box down off the shelf and then Mr. Gray with some footmen brought in hot cocoa and cookies.

As "Princess Bride" played in the background and Legos were strewn across the floor, Alfred deemed the night as SALVAGED.

While the project wasn't finished by a longshot, they did succeed in creating the crown and torch and just about everybody snapped a photo with the "Accessories of Freedom!"

And maybe…

Just maybe…

Alfred even felt a teensy bit disappointed when Arthur took Peter off to tuck in bed and the evening wound down.

Arthur returned for Alfred-smiling as he picked him up, "Thank you for being so patient."

He semi-expected to be deposited in his own room, so it was a surprise when he was carried off to the kiddie room instead.

Arthur grabbed a blanket and settled in the rocking chair.

He rocked them a bit before he commented: "So you remembered that...woman."

Aw great...they were gonna have this conversation after all. He couldn't tell if he was glad or not that his earlier crisis was remembered.

"...yeah..."

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you."

"..." Alfred blinked in surprise-dude he was across the ocean!

He was squeezed gently and the blanket was tucked more securely around him.

"...not your fault" Alfred mumbled.

There was an awkward silence until-

"What do you remember about her?"

He shrugged a shoulder, "Some nice stuff she did and then...some...not-so-nice…"

"You remembered the cliff."

Alfred was held so tightly it almost hurt.

"...I remember looking up at the sky…" he admitted "it was kinda ironic cuz a day earlier, it wouldn't have been a big deal...I'd have just...flown away...but I couldn't...then…"

Arthur remained quiet though he seemed kinda tense.

"It would be...unheroic to resent what I gave up for them...so I don't...but...it does...make me kinda...sad…"

Damn. His voice broke.

And whatever dam of restraint had been keeping Arthur quiet broke.

Soothing nonsense was crooned at him while his back was rubbed and the chair rocked.

He appreciated the effort. Really. He did. Even in the face of how utterly it failed to soften the blow:

"She just didn't love me."

He repeated; though this time it came out resolutely rather than weepy.

It was good to accept what couldn't be changed.

"Alfred."

"S'free country. It's allowed. I just feel a little...I mean...not recognizing it till then! I mean...she didn't even know where I lived or what I ate when she wasn't there and-and...lots of stuff. Lots of...little stuff...I was just...stupid..."

"For being a child that wanted a family? I think not."

"..."

"We're here. We're all right here. Your family" Arthur declared almost forcefully-as if denial of that was nothing short of blasphemy.

"Gettin' all Hallmark on me ol' man?" he sniggered-waiting for an indignant response.

But Arthur didn't rise to the bait. It was kinda worrying the way his dad wasn't letting them fall into their bickering routine. It was a way to get comfortable again after someone said too much. But...green eyes continued watching him solemnly and Arthur repeated himself.

"Your family is here...for you," The man maintained eye contact-waiting for confirmation that his message had been received.

Alfred sighed and rested his head on Arthur's chest, "...kay."

* * *

Texas huddled nervously on his bed.

Goddammit.

There was no way he was gonna sleep tonight.

Creepy ass thing that lurked in darkness!

Great. Real great.

"Al! Why couldn't you make friends with something cute and harmless?"

There was a knock on his door.

Oh God. This was it.

His heart pounded as he slowly approached-he grabbed a vase off the dresser.

He took a deep breath and opened up-ready to strike!

Canada stared back in shock-eyeing the makeshift weapon uneasily.

"Oh..heh, heh. Sorry. Just a little..." paranoid "blown away by...how exquisite this vase is. Wanted a second opinion. Whaddyathink?"

"N-nice. Hong Kong could tell you...more about it. Your light was on and I thought..."

Damn straight that light was on!

"Got you...a slice of Orange Cake. I texted Spain...he said you were a fan."

Tex blinked. Was he...drunk?

His violet eyes were more than a little unfocused.

"Oh! Thanks. Cool. Al and I can share that tomor-"

Canada took a step back-holding Tex's dessert hostage, "I _**got**_ Alfred his _**own**_ dessert. It's in the fridge cuz he's sleeping: Peanut Butter Caramel Brownie."

The look he gave Tex could've withered stone.

"Oh...uh...Good. Well done, soldier."

He nodded, "...not a complete...that'd be horrible...just for you and not for…Je ne suis pas mauvais frère..."

Tex lifted the desert bag out of his brother's hands and sat down on his bed.

Canada followed him over-hesitantly perching on the edge, "Is...Al feeling better? I just...Je ne sais...got scared and he and I didn't know-"

Understatement. Canada had flat out froze.

"He's fine."

"Tex…"

Texas pulled the plastic fork out of its protective wrapping, "...he's hurting...but he'll be fine. Have no doubts about that."

"But-"

Tex shrugged, "He hasn't talked to me about it, yet."

Canada nodded, "When he does…"

"When he does...he does."

Canada frowned, "Non. What I mean is-"

"I _**know**_ what you mean" he took a bite "This is good. Thanks again."

"Pleeease, Texas. You know he's not going to just open up and tell-"

"That's _**your**_ problem. _**You**_ fix it. I ain't your repairman."

"..."

Several bites in, Mathieu gave the down low about what went on in at the fancy dinner. How good the wine was, how delicious the food turned out, how much he missed Francis and wished he could join them, how drunk Alistair got…

Mathieu was quite buzzed himself; he was really friggin chatty and he kept floating in and out of of English. Thankfully, Tex's reawakening Spanish skills made most of Mathieu's comments discernible.

Tex banked that he probably wouldn't remember much of their conversation…

So why not feel out his brother's perspective regarding his own...situation with Al.

"Soooo," Tex asked "Hypothetical scenario: what's your stance on Creepy People? I draw a pretty hard line."

"Eh? Répétez, s'il vous plaît?"

"Ya know...People who follow other people. People who follow...little kids...around. And hide so other people don't notice them?"

Violet eyes widened and Tex realized too late that he'd worded that terribly. But damn, could Canada connect dots!

The Canadian's jaw dropped,"Mon Dieu! Al has a stalker!? Have you reported it? That is 'Criminal Harassment'! Is it a staff member? Does Arthur know?"

"...hypothetically-ness…"

"Is he alright? Is that why he was stressed? That's horrible! When did you find out? How long has it been happening? Is he safe? Don't tell me this isn't my business! I'll take an ice hockey skate and shove it up your a-"

"He says he's his friend and that it's okay!"

Which apparently was the worst thing to say because Mathieu flipped a biscuit and screeched: "That's how it happens! Don't you watch the news?! Or the Lifetime Movies?"

He sprinted out of the room with Tex on his heels. They made it down several hallways before the Canadian collided with Rhys.

"M-mathieu?"

"Al's in trouble! He has a stalker. He's in trouble. Do something! Do something or the bad man'll get him!"

"Looks like he hit the bottle pretty hard and has got...interesting things to say" Tex chuckled uneasily.

Alfred was gonna kill him for blabbing.

"Rhys!" Mathieu grabbed the man's shirt in emphasis.

"Yes, yes" Rhys soothed. "I'll get to the bottom of that at once. Tex could you call down for some strong tea for Mathieu?"

"We don't know if they know! If they're covering-"

"There, there bach."

"Well ain't that just perfect?" Reilley groused as he struggled to heft his passed out Scottish brother. "Another looney for my wing, hm?"

Rhys frowned, "Why'd you bring him here? His room-"

"Cuz I don't want him to make it to the kitchen so easily-eating us outta house and home cuz he's got midnight munchies!"

"Leave him there. I'll take him to my room if it's such a concern."

Reilley abruptly dropped his brother (who grunted as he hit the ground).

"Eire!" Rhys hissed as he sat up-gently pushing Mathieu off himself.

"You-you-you all just leave me downstairs when I get drunk!"

"You start ranting about the glory of PIRA and you get violent."

"You don't do anything nice for me!" Reilley argued indignantly.

"That's not true. We put the child safety locks on all the pantries and electrical sockets. So you don't experiment with things you shouldn't."

"Tch." Yeah. These were Al's relatives alright. Where he inherited all his weirdness from...

He'd seen firsthand on the night they celebrated England's paternity that England had a tendency to strip when plastered.

Yeah…

Wished he could unsee that.

"We have to protect Al from the bad man!" Mathieu announced yet again.

"From the who?" Reiley demanded.

"Texas said he follows Al around and hides so we don't notice. He wants Al to know him as a " _friend"_!"

Rhys helped Mathieu to his feet, "I'll see to the matter once I've escorted you to your room, alright?"

He slung one of the teen's arms around his shoulders-Tex took the other.

"Fine. Ignore me" Reilley called after them. "...I'm leaving him in the hallway!"

"Nos da!" Wales replied.

"Oíche mhaith!" The door slammed.

"...Cadal...sàmhach…" was murmured drowsily from the ground behind them.

Rhys stopped-his eyebrows knitted together, he looked back, and assured, "I'll come back for you Alba!"

He took a deep breath, gave Tex a level stare, and stated "We drop Mathieu off at his room, we go alert Arthur to his claims to prove they have no foundation, and then we come back and help Alba."

Considering how dishevelled Rhys was looking, and the somewhat desperate glint starting to show in his eye-Tex agreed.

By the time, they managed to scrape Matt off at his bedroom-they were exhausted and knocked harder than necessary on Arthur's door.

The Briton opened the door with a particularly nasty scrowl on his face.

"Have you no respect for the late hour?"

"Sorry Arthur, but Mathieu is delusionally concerned that a man-"

"Oh, him too? Yes, yes" Arthur stared at Texas a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered "That's right. Texas, you were complaining about being disturbed at night by someone with a limp. Correct? I didn't check the roster tonight. Sorry."

"Uh...it's...not a big deal. I don't wanna cause any employees trouble or anyt-"

"No one is scheduled in any of our personal wings to clean during the night shift" Rhys cut in.

"Hm. Well, we'll just tell the staff not to go exploring when they feel amorous or-"

"They know that. I emphasize that during each seasonal orientation. There's a quiz at the end."

"Yes, well, thank you Rhys" Arthur muttered tersely "Sorry Texas, we'll figure something out...tomorrow. Good night."

The door clicked shut.

Texas scuffed the heel of his boot against the ground, "Well...let's go grab Scottie and then-"

Rhys snatched Tex's arm, "What's this about a man with a limp?"

"I...I just heard someone...limping around the last few nights."

"Outside your bedroom?"

"...yeah?"

"What time of night?"

"...late?"

"Witching Hour late?" Wales demanded.

"..."

Tex had a pretty strong feeling now that Gimpy was Grym.

"Someone with a limp" Rhys muttered to himself. "Someone following Alfred...someone following a child...And Alistair keeps getting the Tower tarot every time he does a reading...and the boat...Reilley's consulted his runes but not one of them turns up as guilty...because...they're not guilty...because it wasn't...one of..."

Tex licked his lips.

"Why were you up so late?" Rhys demanded.

"H-huh? Uh, Matt wanted me to eat my dessert."

"Matt woke you up?"

"..."

"No. He didn't. Did he? Which means that your light was still on. Why?"

"Youtubing?" Texas offered weakly.

"Oh really? And what were you watching?"

"Uh...um...that thing with the other thing with the...cats...kinda tired now. Gotta go-"

"Were you afraid to go to sleep?"

"..."

"Because of whatever it was dragging itself along outside your bedroom door?"

"I think the real question here is: what do _**you**_ think it is?"

"Nothing good" Rhys answered. He checked his watch. "I don't want Alba left in the hall should it be what I fear it is. But before we depart-"

He delivered a series of rapid knocks on Arthur's door again.

Footsteps stormed over and the door was wrenched open, "Wot now?!"

"Have Alfred sleep in your bed" Rhys ordered.

Arthur rubbed an eye irritably, "He is."

"Good. I think we have a malignant entity here."

"Wot? No. I sealed the grounds-"

"Then it was sealed in or...is something...worse than…I need to see the tapes" he murmured in realization.

"Thought you already watched them all?"

Hazel eyes widened, "I was looking for all the wrong things. I was so focused on the other children's behavior I…" He stared into the room at Arthur's bed "give me the spare key to the surveillance room. Now."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "Ask Mr. Gray-"

"No. No...changed my mind. I need your skeleton key."

"Wot?"

"I'll need it. I can sense it! Get it! Now!"

Arthur shuffled off grumbling to himself.

Tex watched uneasily as Rhys shifted from foot to foot-getting antsy.

Arthur returned shortly and set a key in Rhys's hand.

"Albion? I said the skeleton key not the spare-"

Arthur frowned and crossed his arms, "Not there. Maybe Scotland has it. You know he doesn't have any qualms about riffling through my things."

Rhys swore and turned on his heel.

"Is someone embezzling again? Do we have an angry Brownie wanting compensation?" Arthur asked-face solemn and a bit melancholy.

"I'll let you know more once I'm certain."

"Right. Right..." Arthur sighed.

"D-daddy?" a high voice questioned from the depths of the bedroom. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm here love, don't worry" Arthur closed the door.

Tex turned to see Rhys already at the far end of the hall.

"W-wait up, Snobby!" Tex called after him.

Sorry Al. A promise was a promise, but if this thing was dangerous...then Tex was just gonna have to spill the beans.

* * *

"Time to get up!" a sugary voice blared.

Alfred hunkered down into his warm cocoon of blankets.

"Come now, Sweet." Arthur chuckled giving him a nudge, "Come on now. It's a special morning. I've just received word that the Royal Family wants to do FaceTime with us at 10!"

"In the morning?" Alfred grumbled. Well, whoopdee-flippin-doo.

"Yes, pet, isn't that lovely? Such a treat. I set out an outfit for you on your bed. Now quick, quick. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair."

Alfred sat up and frowned.

Arthur couldn't figure out how Sticky Keys worked, but knew how to set up FaceTime on his SmartTV? Weird.

The Briton bustled about as if he was walking on air.

His devotion to royalty…Alfred just couldn't get it.

He slowly trudged into his room-cursing the cold air for giving him goosebumps.

While he was dressing, Arthur scared the bajeezus out of him by popping his head in.

"Nearly done? We need to think of a way for you to thank them for those lovely gifts they got you. Since you haven't penned any Thank Yous, yet."

There was a hard edge of disapproval in that tone there.

"..."

"What they did for you was very considerate. And I will have you show them the same consideration in return."

"Yeah, yeah..." he tucked his shirt in.

"Here" Arthur fixed Alfred's tie and straightened his suspenders. "Perfection. Now: Teeth. Hair. Shoes."

"I know!"

Funny to think, yesterday he'd craved Arthur's attention and today…

Well, today...it was a mercy to escape Arthur's overzealous clutches. Though the gifthorse came from an odd source: Mathieu. The Canadian had a hangover and Arthur had to deal with him.

"Really Mathieu," Arthur tutted "I'm surprised at you. Overindulging like this. You're usually so respons-"

Alfred rubbed an eye as he wandered downstairs-hoping to grab a bite of something before he had to make nicey-nice. He couldn't really say he felt rested at all; he'd had a lot of disjointed dreams the previous night involving snow and ash and shadowy pathways and someone begging him to turn back.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end which signalled-

"Grym? You there?"

The shadow darkened.

"Yesss…"

There was a metallic clink as something was tossed beside his feet: a skeleton key?

"Hey, where'd you get that?"

Geez, if he was found with this people were going to think he was a thief!

"Quick...look...while he isn't...here…"

One long dark claw scratched against the door before retreating into the shadow of a pedestal holding a glass sculpture.

"I thought that was an office? I'm not s'posed to-"

"Important...your father is...up...to something…"

"Hey! You're spying on him?! Dude not cool!"

"Watching...for both our sakes…"

Still...

Alfred reluctantly picked up the key and opened the door. His heart beat faster as he closed it behind him.

"Look...there...quick…"

Grym gestured to Arthur's laptop which was perched on the desk-in its snooze mode. A screen saver for Doctor Who was bouncing around on it.

A serious twinge of foreboding flitted through his being, as he approached and tapped it awake.

Dammit, he had a real weakness for snooping. But 7 times outta 10, it usually benefitted him and allowed him to better protect his people. Espionage was one of the main reasons his country won the Revolution and he never forgot it.

But it was really uncomfortable staring at the password bar and typing in: M1ntbunNy!

It was impossible not to learn it with Arthur spending so much time with him and not bothering to turn away or ask Alfred to leave when he logged in.

It was better to think Arthur was just careless than that his old man trusted him not to...

He bit his lip nervously and frowned at the man's stupid background.

He still had that insanely inappropriate picture on his Facebook too. Poor kid. Geez, he kept waiting for Arthur's account to be suspended on account of it. But the place was dragging its heels-probably on account of his being a personification.

"...see...yet?"

His stomach flopped. Grym seemed awfully eager. Russia got that way when he delivered bad news to him. Maybe...he oughta just leave...tell Arthur everything and-and-

"Workin' on it."

Sure enough, there in the taskbar was a minimized window for British Airways.

His eyebrow raised curiously and he maximized the window and-

Wha?

He scanned it.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Blue eyes widened.

No…

No, it had to be some kind of mistake.

"Yesss...now you see...we…always watch out for our...friends...yesss?"

Alfred's bottom lip trembled.

Should've known.

He shouldn't have bought into a single ounce of that whole bleeding heart 'We're a family' schpiel.

"Welcome here my ass" Alfred grit out.

It shouldn't have been surprising; given what a pain in the butt Alfred had been the past few months, let alone the last 24 hours.

But seeing it there in front of his very eyes...

Departure Time set for December 27th.

The day before Arthur's Winter Ball thing.

Oh it was fine for Alfred to join them on Yule, Christmas, and Boxing Day. But a ball? Oh no. Alfred just wasn't polished enough for a ball.

He knew it.

They knew it.

Arthur knew it.

...should've just been upfront with him.

Instead, he'd been tricked...

He stared hard at the screen.

It was from the U.K. to the the U.S.

Single ticket.

One way.

So...they'd ship him back to the States and probably have Tex head back over to Spain.

And everything would be all rosy for everyone...but him. Cuz everyone else would still be off on their own holidays and he'd be...

Clearly, for Arthur...the novelty of having his son back had worn off. And he was ready to restore his life to the order, elegance, and routine that he'd known before.

Alfred swallowed hard, "You were right. He was up to... _ **something**_ alright: He's sending me away."

" _Poor, poor friend_...come with usssss…"

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDD


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Rousseau's Du Contrat Social: The Social Contract.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Ancient titles. Super brief King George III cameo. Mine shell. New Land Pattern Light Infantry Musket. Some chaos.

 **Special Warning:** Feels.

 **AN:** Hello! Thank you for your reviews! Got inspired for this chap pretty quick, hope you enjoy! : DDD

 **Chapter 38: Ash That Fell Like Snow**

* * *

Alfred scrubbed at his eyes as he trudged down the corridor-ignoring Grym's insistence that he head to the Music Hall.

Not yet.

He'd go on his own terms or not at all; he was sick of everyone telling him what to do!

The globe! His government! His family! His father!

And he was expected to just suck it all up because he was the hero. And for some reason nobody ever felt bad about making the hero do that.

He didn't want to be a part of England's "visit." He didn't want to be some sick kind of trophy. He didn't want to be some sacrificial goat-olive-branch-thing. The U.S. Government and the British Parliament knew having Alfred under his thumb, made Arthur giddy. And so everybody was real content feeding him the same ol' "be nice" initiative.

America was a lot of things. Nice wasn't one of 'em.

He was nobody's pet. To be brought forward or sent off on an owner's whim.

He remembered being lined up with the others in the throne room.

" _America" England ordered under his breath. "Remember: Step Forward, Bow, Speak, and Return."_

 _Alfred swallowed nervously and nodded-feeling lightheaded as he approached King George III._

 _His father stood behind him, one hand lightly touching the back of his shoulder as his signal to go. He gave this cue to each colony as they went down the line._

 _The colonies who had the most to offer were at the very front and the very end of the line. It was strategic; since the beginning and the end of anything were the parts people remembered best and England wanted the King to remember all his colonies fondly. Even if meant forgetting some of them._

 _America was stationed in the middle._

" _Now boy, like we rehearsed. Bow for your king."_

 _And he wanted Father to be proud of him._

 _Had been delighted all of last afternoon because Arthur had praised him in front of everyone-declaring that there was grace in Alfred's movements as he bowed._

 _But bowing to Arthur was different than this._

 _And Dear God in Heaven, no person in all the world wished more than he, that it could be the same._

 _But it wasn't._

 _The mortal on that throne never carried him when he was sick or injured. Father insisted he possessed "great mercy," but...he'd never known it. Enlightened? How would he know? He'd never instructed Alfred on an array of subjects. Why was he supposed to feel impressed by the sight of him? He never engaged with enemies in combat or brandished a sword or gun or…_

 _There was no sense of awe._

 _As he stood there, Alfred realized with genuine horror that he felt nothing. Worse, there might've been the slightest sense of...contempt._

 _Arthur's hand rested with more force._

" _Alfred" he prompted again._

 _He wanted to feel the warm affection that seemed to fill Arthur whenever he thought of his King and Country._

 _He couldn't muster it._

 _His knees wouldn't bend._

 _The pressure on his shoulder increased._

" _Alfred," Arthur gritted his teeth._

 _The hand on his shoulder became tight...painful._

" _Boy" he hissed._

 _King George III's eyes narrowed as the seconds became minutes._

 _Arthur finally used his weight as an Empire._

 _Alfred's knees buckled and he fell to the floor._

 _Arthur tried to laugh it off, announcing that the poor boy's legs had locked and that the grandeur of the moment overwhelmed him. Surely, they couldn't hold that against him? He was unaccustomed to events such as these. He chuckled lightly that "America was better acquainted with fields and fens than palaces."_

 _He lifted Alfred to his feet and deposited him back in line-without looking at him. And the session carried on with the others playing their parts without snags._

 _Once they'd left the hall and were in a private room, Arthur upbraided him with a fury he'd never witnessed before. The other children watched-some in fear, others in approval._

 _It faded within minutes, but what came next was worse._

 _Father got so...cold and disappointed and frustrated with him._

 _He'd failed Arthur and that had made him feel like he had a millstone lodged inside him. Or maybe he became the millstone because he couldn't cry. And it was a shame he couldn't cry, because that usually got Arthur to treat him more kindly._

 _He was sent off with a nursemaid, while the others got to play in the gardens. He'd had to eat alone that night too since he couldn't be trusted not to make a fool of himself in royal company._

 _It was as he was resigning himself to a bedtime with no stories or lullabies (because his nursemaid was as kindly and lovable as a table) that Arthur reappeared-dismissing the maid to take over her duties which struck Alfred as odd. Because the harder parts (like giving Alfred a scrubbing and changing him into a nightgown) were already done. All that was really left at that point was to blow the candles out._

 _Arthur was stiff as he asked Alfred to tell him about his day-to which Alfred looked him in the eye (since that was important) and briefly summarized. Usually Arthur, would sigh that he took too long describing unimportant things-wild animals he'd seen, pretty flowers, the way one of his boots (just the left one) kept unlacing..._

 _So he honored Arthur's usual request (for once) and confined himself to a single sentence. Barely a sentence really._

 _"I read."_

 _Because adding 'to pass the time' seemed unnecessary._

 _And what he read wasn't really Arthur's business. Plus, Arthur wasn't a fan of Rousseau. And that would lead to difficult questions on how Alfred got his hands on a translated edition of 'The Social Contract.'_

 _Alfred waited for Arthur to give a nod, turn out the light, bid him a short goodnight and leave. Since, the man usually didn't linger about or hug him whenever Alfred was "disobedient."_

 _Arthur though, rather than seeming pleased, became uncomfortable in the following silence._

 _He came over then and sat down on the bed fiddling with a pillow as he explained that Alfred mustn't repeat his earlier performance since they judged Arthur's skills as a caretaker through his colonies' actions._

 _They could make things very difficult for them if they doubted America's loyalty. Add more rules. Restrict more freedoms. England was concerned for him. For all of his colonies. And regretfully, he had to make an example of him-so the others didn't pull a similar stunt. Naturally, he was Arthur's clever boy...he could understand that?_

 _Alfred assured that he understood (And he did. He did understand. But whether or not he agreed or accepted it, was another thing entirely)._

 _Arthur had sighed in relief and took to petting his hair-insisting that by morning the bad day would just seem like a bad dream and they'd have a much better time then._

 _Father bid him goodnight with a kiss to the forehead and tried to give him a hug...which caused Alfred to flinch._

 _The man abruptly demanded to see where he was hurting and began cursing the maid for her neglect._

 _Did he fall? Did he bump into something? Why hadn't the maid alerted him to it? Surely she'd noticed when she helped him dress for bed! Did it just happen?_

 _Alfred didn't answer and didn't look at him either._

 _Because...No...it didn't just happen..._

 _His shoulder twinged from too tight a grip and his knees were smarting from a hard stone floor…_

 _For a moment, Arthur had just stared...and his eyes went so wide..._

His memory got hazy then...eventually they'd done something with a dark green book and someone else was there too and there was a soft golden glow and his shoulder felt better...but...

He frowned.

And Arthur…the memory fizzled…he was...sorry? Somebody cried. Alfred...didn't think it was himself though...because it wasn't the shoulder that bothered and continued to bother him-he'd had his colonists leave bruising marks much darker and more painful as they yanked him out of the way of horse and carts when he got busy daydreaming.

No. It was just...so insulting...that Arthur chose to apologize for the smaller offense and said nothing of the other.

And he was rather disenchanted with Father after that.

He loved the man for certain...but he was never quite…as "great" to him as he once was.

" _Better acquainted with fields and fens than palaces"_

It was the first time Arthur outright called him a peasant and it wouldn't be the last.

He later sneered at his 'adolescent' son when he did so. And soon Alfred thought even less of him: a possessive misguided tyrant...and finally an enemy.

But being the optimistic fool he was, in spite of it all...Alfred had honestly hoped for reconciliation.

But instead of happily reuniting...as two nations...each worthy of respect...

 _There was smoke…_

 _Had to hold his breath..._

 _Had to be quiet if he didn't want to be discovered…_

 _But it was difficult reigning in his temper as those goddamned Redcoats dined in his Capitol._

 _But he had to save his library!_

 _Because he'd already heard they planned to torch everything!_

 _Too soon smoke would fill the hallways…_

 _Laughing and drinking and merrymaking…_

 _Goddamned Redcoats._

 _All of them._

 _Sitting there…_

 _He saw them through a crack in the door._

 _All of them._

 _All of them._

 _All of them._

 _How dare they?!_

 _Smoke billowed._

 _Eyes burning..._

 _Had to hold his breath._

 _He had to save his library!_

 _The clock chimed! And somewhere in the recesses of his mind he remembered thinking: how odd that they hadn't looted that...grandfather clocks were expensive._

 _And then all the air left his lungs in shock and horror..._

Sorrow burned into rage. All those cheap 'I love you's' he'd been given over the years! Ones that were offered far too easily to be truly valuable. Ones that came when it was convenient to give them. And were withheld when he failed to perform "properly." All were used with the intent of manipulating him.

He'd just wanted to hear it so bad. He didn't care from who. And he didn't care if they really meant it every single time.

They all turned to ash that fell like snow…

Tricked.

And here he was...being tricked again.

* * *

Arthur carefully set the vase down in the parlor he wanted to have the "visit" in. He shifted it this way and that on the table without satisfaction. He really ought to have Alfred rearrange the flowers in it-the boy had a better eye for it. And he did want everything to look pristine and refined.

A visit! Yes, a virtual visit...but still! It meant that the babes would likely be included. He loved seeing their sweet little faces! Such a treat! O he was excited...and worried.

He hoped Mathieu's hangover subsided, that Jet wore something tasteful, and that Michelle didn't decide it was the moment to take the Royal Family to task for historical wrongs done years ago. While he could well understand and sympathize her feelings of being neglected during WWII...a happy afternoon chat wasn't the place for it.

He also hoped that Alfred's mood improved. He was rather cranky this morning. He might coax the child to have a nap after the visit was over.

Truth be told, Arthur really blamed Rhys for it. Poor lamb had been resting so well until his uncle interrupted him. Afterwards, he slept fitfully for the rest of the night...so much so that...Arthur could use a kip too.

He sighed and cracked his neck.

And all for...what? He checked his phone, pager, and email and Rhys hadn't alerted him to **_any_ ** findings so...clearly whatever he'd been rambling about last night wasn't terribly important after all.

Rhys was known to overreact now and then and when he realized it-got embarrassed and shied away from company for at least half a day. As a result, Arthur didn't expect him to make an appearance during the visit this morning.

A shame, because he was usually very good at setting everything up. He knew how to angle the camera for more flattering shots.

Arthur stood and began fussing with drapes. There needed to be some light so it didn't seem like a dungeon, but not so much that they were all washed out on the camera.

Just as he finished adjusting the curtain ties, a sharp stab of pain glanced through his whole being.

While most of it left as swiftly as it came, his weakened ankle continued to throb and he clutched at a decorative pillar for support.

"Arthur?" Reilley asked from the doorway. "You...alright?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you..." Arthur paused then frowned as he realized Reilley was still in his pajamas! No, he would not let his brother embarrass him by holding a conversation with the Queen in his bathrobe! But before he could scold his sibling-

"I was wondering…" Reilley muttered "Have ya seen Alba? He'll be a beast if he doesn't eat anyth-"

Another harsher flash of pain had him wincing again.

He held his hand against his heart.

"Albion? What-"

"Good grief" He chuckled weakly "Must've been a potent memory."

"Huh?"

He panted a bit, "Sometimes when Alfred has a rough one, I feel an...echo? I better seek him out and...oh! There you are."

Alfred stood in the doorway-fists clenched against his trousers.

"I'm glad you came to me" Arthur commented-he usually had to track the boy down whenever this happened, "Now...what's troubling you, Darlingheart?"

Alfred's head remained down turned-fringe covering his eyes.

"...I'm no one's darling…let alone yours..."

Arthur swore his heart stopped. The grandfather clock nearby seemed frightfully loud.

So eerily similar to what Blue had said:

' _Roanoke, don't be a fool. You're not anyone's darling.'_

Reilley edged away uneasily.

Arthur steeled himself and walked over.

"Yes, you are" Arthur stated matter-of-fact. "Now, what...what has you...? Come dear, quick: Tell me what's wrong and I'll see if I can help." His lungs kept tightening, but he tried to smile "Did you remember something that upset you?"

Alfred slowly looked up and good Lord...there was blue fire in those eyes.

"You're such a fucking liar. Stop playing. Cuz I'm not playing anymore."

It wasn't a look often directed at him. On the rare occasion he saw it, it was when Alfred was in combat against an enemy and he felt Arthur was 'in the way.'

"Um, Alfie boy...w-what're you...doin'?" Reilley asked tentatively.

Arthur planted his feet, stood up straight, crossed his arms, and took in a deep breath, "Alfred, I will remind you that this is _**my**_ house and I will not be spoken to that way here."

"You're a liar!" the child shouted almost hysterically.

England winced as an image was sent to him.

God. So much anger! White hot and suffocating!

He saw himself…what was he…?

 _Through the crack of a door-Alfred could make them all out: England, Scotland, Ireland, and Canada all seated at the dining table in their military uniforms. Their men merrymaking at America's expense. The White House had fallen into enemy hands._

Green eyes widened.

Fuck. 1812.

He'd waited too long.

No; he'd stalled. He'd been so preoccupied with approaching it the perfect way at the perfect time. He'd avoided it altogether.

And the vengeful ghost of it now sprang...

"Alfred...Alfred, we can make it through this" he entreated "I know it. Talk with me."

"You're a liar!" the child hissed-pointing an accusing finger at him "You've always been!"

' _I knew from the start you were a liar...'_

He grabbed the child's shoulders gently but firmly, "What? What is it I've lied about?"

"...inviting me all the way out here...so you could play Empire!"

"Wot?!"

"Telling me what to wear, how to act, who to be! You never change! You're exactly the same as you've always been!"

He was having a meltdown over...manners and house rules? No; it had to be something more.

"Alfred, I instruct you on such things in an effort to _help_ you. If I've hurt you, I deeply regret-"

Alfred squirmed, "Everything's always gotta be so goddamn fancy and perfect for y-"

"Alfred lower your voice. Whatever has gotten you so riled, we can discuss. But we will discuss it like civilized-"

"WHY?! Why do I have to be civilized? Why is it that whenever we're together, it's only a 'good time' if I do everything YOU say? You order me around like a dog!"

"I...I don't understand where all this is...coming from?" They'd been getting along, hadn't they?

"Lemme explain it then!" Alfred growled "You…you have this... ** _other me_** that you think I'm _**supposed**_ to be in your head."

"No."

"Yes, you do!" the child insisted "You think if I did this or did that, or learned this or learned that! If I dress or act just so...I could be him. The me, that you wish was me. And when I fail to live up to him, you punish me!"

"Alfred..." Arthur shook his head "Nononono...I-"

"And I'd rather have you _**hate**_ me, than say you love me when you love _**him**_ instead!"

Arthur's throat closed, but he choked out, "No. No, that's not true."

' _You never see me.'_

Maybe that was what he'd really meant back then at Kirkland Hall.

Nonetheless.

"I see you. I see you, my Alfred. I see you as **you**. And I lov-"

 _Smoke filled the library and the cases began to catch as the roof overhead began to give way at the corner. The burning wood slats ignited dry book pages…._

Arthur instinctively reached for the child and-

 _Emotion lanced through him like high voltage._

 _Rage…_

 _Pain…_

 _Fear…_

 _Frustration..._

 _Betrayal…_

 _Humiliation…_

 _Disillusionment…_

 _Grief…_

 _The feeling of loss was overwhelming in its intensity._

 _The boy tried to pull away._

No! Arthur tightened his grip.

… _.Horrified, Alfred stared down the barrel of a New Land Pattern Light Infantry Musket!_

Arthur's heart ached because he'd personally signed for that shipment. It was standard military issue for British troops in 1814 and an improvement over earlier designs.

Dear God-

CRASH!

The heartstopping sound of shattering glass jerked him back into the present and he instinctively curled over the child to shield him.

He carried the struggling boy away from the window, "Are you alright? Did any glass hit you?"

"Leggo of me!"

He reeled the tantruming child towards himself as he risked a quick look behind them to see what had caused the destruction.

A...vine?

Sure enough, a thorny vine poked unapologetically into the parlor room.

It almost seemed comical...until it twitched and slithered further in.

Several more crashes and this time screams were heard. Judging from the commotion and the calls for Mr. Gray, the staff were encountering the same phenomenon:

Gardening Magic.

He gave Alfred a gentle shake, "I need you to calm down and tell me what has you so upset. Is it 1812? Is it the war altogether? Abstractly? Or some particular aspect?"

There were several heavy breaths and then a hissed: "You..."

He swallowed down his hurt at that and asked directly: "What is it about me that has you so-"

"You know what you did!... _Tricked_ me..."

Tears gathered in the child's eyes and Arthur felt awful at the very real sense of betrayal coursing through his son.

His earlier trip into Alfred's subconscious seemed frighteningly important and informative now. He could almost sense the different parts of the boy's subconscious in action:

Blue was acting as the cruel mouthpiece, but all the emotion was stemming from Red.

And White?

White was…?

He blinked in realization...White had sought his father out rather than choosing some secluded area to hole up in and suffer.

Thank God for Roanoke's proactive approach-that portion knew Arthur was important to resolving the conflict.

Yes, it made Arthur the target of a huge amount of anger and distress and yet...

It was strangely relieving.

For so long he'd been left desperately grasping for a tendril of genuine emotion…

Fear, anger, sorrow, confusion...?

Something…

Anything...

Feelings that were to be expected after his ordeal with Osha. Or after so many painful years of estrangement from his father. Feelings that needed to be soothed. Insecurities that needed to be put to bed. And yet they were oddly absent.

Relief was absent also.

Everything seemed unnaturally stagnant. Nothing worsened and nothing improved.

And whatever "happiness" he felt from the child (blessed as it was) seemed like pale sunshine on a moor. Not the brilliant blaze he'd known centuries ago.

The Alfred he raised was passionate.

The Alfred he rescued was reserved.

It was quite honestly: terrible. Doing all he could to strengthen their bond-having his hands outstretched-searching for small fingers...and only finding unnaturally hollowed spaces...

The dam had broken...and while the emotions were rushing out in a violent torrent-all those caverns were filling. Alfred was coming to life. His sense of the child blossomed even more.

And that's what he'd been after right?

What had been haunting him since his diner breakfast with Roanoke. Who'd been so open and trusting...and in need of affection. Arthur knew then! Knew his child was starved for affection and Arthur wanted to provide it if only Alfred would accept.

But to accept he had to lower his defenses!

His child was finally opening up-even if it was in a volatile manner. Like a mine shell detonating.

It felt like his Alfred was finally, truly, there with him!

And…

Arthur's heart twisted with joy and pain and hope and terror.

Because emotionally...Alfred was... ** _exactly_ ** where he'd been left…

...In a burning White House.

Arthur squared his shoulders-It was time for another rescue.

"How have I tricked you?" Arthur repeated. "Tell me what I've done."

Something brushed against the back of his neck.

"Ack!"

The vines from the window had stretched all the way across the room!

Alfred used the distraction to kick his Father on his bad ankle...hard; which caused Arthur to stagger into the door frame as the boy raced off.

Arthur swore loudly-his ankle seared with pain.

Damnation, that was a fracture. What was a sprain was now a fracture!

He limped into the hall-eyes scanning for the direction of his offspring.

"He's gone psycho…" Reilley murmured wide-eyed.

"He is NOT psychotic!" Arthur hissed as he shoved Reilley out of his way.

"And the apple" Reilley wheezed "Doesn't fall far from-"

"He is a CHILD! And he's _**hurting**_. He's having the worst memories of his young life spring up now. Where's Rhys? It's about damn time he makes good on the title of 'Empath.'"

Reilley shrugged, "I haven't seen him all morning. No one's seen him. Or Scot, or Tex for that matter. We were all saying it was creepy quiet so I decided to look ar-"

"Goddamn it, did they fall asleep in the surveillance room?"

"What? They were all-and I wasn't invited?!"

Arthur remembered their distress the previous night. He hurried off with Reilley dogging his heels barking questions which he largely ignored.

He knocked hard on the door to the room, but there was no response. He tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked.

Green eyes widened.

All three were indeed in the surveillance room:

Tied and gagged...with goblin rope.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Reilley gasped.

Arthur scrutinized the tarry, black, netlike substance. According to gossiping gnomes, they were the result of some hybrid plant experiment using Chinese wisteria, English ivy, and some magic plant native to Doggerland (long, _**long**_ , before he and his brothers' time).

He removed Rhys's gag.

"UnSeelies! They're everywhere Albion! They've infiltrated the entire estate! They're using shadows as portals!"

"How?" Reilley squawked "Arthur set a perimeter with iron and-"

"Listen! It's because they have a Bod-"

"Bloody perfect. It _**would**_ be today," Arthur panted "Just...perfect...I need my wand. They're stealing all the silverware again, aren't they? For some imagined slight from years ago, I bet. I'll return and set you free in a moment."

"No wait! Stop! Albion! Eire! Wait!"

"Yeah. Er. Sorry, I'll be back too" Reilley apologized "Staff's in my room."

Arthur took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain as well as Rhys's cries for him to "WAIT!"and "COME BACK, ALBION I HAVE TO TELL Y-."

He'd get his wand, set them loose, tell them to gather the children and staff in one place to protect them, and he'd search for Alfred.

Once he had Alfred, they could evacuate everyone and then return to deal with the pest control problem.

"Arthur? Should I wear diamonds or pearls?" Barbados asked from the doorway. "I don't want to overdress, but...I also don't want to seem to-"

"Either is fine. Be back in a tic, love. Try to gather everyone in the Drawing Room, won't you?"

"I thought...the parlor was where...?"

"Please dear, something I've got to do…"

He hurried into his bedroom and stared at his desk in disbelief.

No.

Oh no.

Nononono.

His wand case was empty.

* * *

Rhys watched helplessly as the young Texan personification was surrounded by a small battalion of goblins in rusty Renaissance armor.

Odd. He thought both Courts had stopped wearing such antiques ages ago.

"Sorry" the broad, squat goblin shrugged at the young man, "Brenhin wants you. So you come too."

Rhys struggled against his bonds, but goblin nets were nasty; not only did they drain energy, but they addled magic.

If he cast a spell while under the influence of one, he had a better chance of injuring Texas than their enemies.

"Beware" a nasally voiced one with a nose so long it quivered as he spoke "Cadeyrn is here."

That sent a shudder through their group.

"He is indeed" Rhys declared "Abandon this fool's errand, or suffer his wrath. You know how violent my brother can be."

Low ranking goblins such as these were rather simpleminded. So it was important to give them cause and effect framed sentences. Vague threats (while so sinister to humans and nations) were easily shrugged off by Goblin Soldiers. They literally lacked the imagination necessary to be afraid of such things.

The squat one nodded in agreement, but shrugged again and addressed his fellows, "Brenhin wants him. Rix wants Brenhin to visit. Brenhin gets what Brenhin wants, so Rix gets what Rix wants."

The rest bobbed their heads.

Texas let out a smothered scream as they dragged him off. One goblin dutifully picked up his cowboy hat.

Rhys tried to block it (and his sense of shame and responsibility) out.

Brenhin?

' _Rix wants Brenhin…to visit...?'_

Wait, wait, wait.

He took a deep breath-urging himself to think of it as a logic problem.

If Cadeyrn or "Battle King" was Arthur.

And Rix no doubt referred to the King of the UnSeelie Court.

Then Brenhin...Little Raven...no...Little _Prince_...was…

His eyebrows lifted.

Alfred.

Brenhin was Alfred.

The King of the UnSeelie Court wanted Alfred to visit.

That caused a shiver to go down Rhys's spine.

It was a blatant refusal to honor Arthur's request that Alfred meet neither Court until he deemed his child ready.

Arthur would be furious.

They'd only ever met with this particular King once during WWI; a stubborn idiot he'd refused to cancel their Fairy Festivals for the holiday and suffered massive casualties as bombs fell.

Thinking back on it, Rhys wasn't even sure the monarch's Queen...as well their only child survived...

As the goblins filed out, the last one (with the hat) turned and grumbled "The vines were not us. No blaming."

Vines?

Oh no...nonono...

Alfred!

Poor chwb was probably terrified and his magic was likely going haywire!

Arthur reappeared in the doorway not a moment too soon.

"Arthur!"

He blinked as Arthur pulled out an old dagger; a favorite from his 'Golden Age of Piracy' and began sawing through the cords binding Rhys.

Thankfully, the enchantment on it hadn't dulled too much in the years since its last use.

But...where was his wand?

"Arthur listen! A-"

"Back!" Reilley announced. Staff in hand, he hit the bottom three times before making a fire sign and setting it on Scotland's ropes.

He too was successful in freeing his brother-though it did singe Alistair's clothes.

Alistair ripped the gag out of his mouth, "I suppose I should be grateful, I didn't lose a limb?"

"Aye, yeh should" Reilley replied. "Now what the hell is goin' on? I sleep in on one morning and everything goes down the shitter. Goblins? Vines crawlin' in from the windows? On my way back down I saw most of the staff's under a sleeping spell...as well as most of the children! 'Cept I didn't see the wee ones!"

"What? What do you mean?" Arthur's voice went high with anxiety "Sealand and Wy are missing?"

"Texas was dragged off" Scotland added. "He always gets separated. Poor bastard. He's got rotten luck."

"What happened to the little ones?!" Arthur demanded.

"I dunno, I just didn't see them. Maybe they're hiding?" Reilley murmured hopefully.

"Sealand doesn't have the Sight" Arthur murmured.

"Maybe Wy can sense-"

"Arthur" Rhys grabbed his elbow in urgency "It's a Bodoach!"

"It's a Bodach" Scotland corrected as he summoned his Claymore. "Used to have to chase those off all the-"

"Pronunciation doesn't matter" Rhys hissed.

"Fine. I guess what else I've said doesn't matter either and I'll be the one rescuing that cowboy brat. Don't worry yourselves over the non-children."

Rhys levelled a glare at his Scottish brother who pushed past him-taking care to shoulder him hard. Though, at least he didn't run his sword 'accidentally' over Rhys's foot. His tendency to do that was the main reason, Rhys no longer wore sandals...ever.

"It's been stalking Alfred" Rhys explained "And now it's made portals for other UnSeelies to use! All over the house!"

Arthur's countenance darkened "...stalking…?"

"Albion-"

"At the airport...he said he'd...oh God…" Arthur ran a panicked hand through his hair "I can't believe...How dare they?!"

"The boat Arthur. It wasn't any of the children. It was the first attempt!" Rhys explained.

The blond went dangerously still.

Rhys frowned, "The Bodoach has three chances to capture his desired child and drag him to the kingdom! Dŵr thwarted him. But I don't know if this is his second or third attempt. Their King wants Alfred. I daresay he's employed the Bodoach to ensure his wishes. What they plan to do with him...I don't know."

But it was likely nothing good.

UnSeelie's weren't known for their hospitality.

Though what Alfred could've possibly done to offend them...he was just a babe!

It was absurd!

He could sense that Arthur felt the same...though he didn't bother suppressing his fury.

He gripped his knife tightly as his emerald eyes flashed dangerously. His mouth twisted into a snarl and his nostrils flared, "How _**dare**_ they try to steal off with _**my**_ child! Who the fuck do they think they are?!"

Arthur turned on his heel and left the room with surprising speed considering he was limping. Rhys frowned as he followed-wondering what had happened to worsen that ankle?

"Have they forgotten who they're bloody dealing with?" Arthur growled. Without pausing, Arthur (with one hand) ripped a broad sword clean off its plaque-scattering bits of glossed wood across the floor. "Well; I'll just have to remind them, won't I?"

Rhys nodded as he drew his orb out from the Ether.

"Ignore my letter?" Arthur grumbled "I'll make them _**eat**_ my next one."

Imbeciles.

Rhys warned them.

They didn't listen.

Let the UnSeelies weather Arthur's ire as well as they could.

They brought it on themselves.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Star War's Tatooine. Or Captain America. Or Marvel. Or Britannia's Brew the alcoholic beverage. Or Labyrinth.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Occasional callbacks to Wendigo. FunFact: The infamous Princess Cone Hat that we all associate with fairytales is called a hennin and there are different types of hennin. And it was considered fashionable for a lady to shave her hair back and raise her hairline. Because bare foreheads under the cone hat were considered attractive. Weird, huh? But it does explain why all the women seem so...bald-ish in a lot of the paintings depicting those hats. Go on. Google it. You'll see what I mean. Because we had concern from a cat lover regarding Americat. Americat made it to the manor in Chap 26 and Camelot-they have garnered a small mention. Even though we all know: Cats land on their feet and they'll be fine. England can be a real ham when he has the upper hand. Shotei strike! Irish Saying: Fur Coat and No Knickers (Pretending you have more money than you do). Leather sword frogs. There are a surprising amount of chandelier shapes. Me writing a depressing song for Al...because that's how I roll. Mention of Slaughter Stone at Stonehenge. The U.K. Bros do their best. Al deals with a rough set of circumstances. And Grym is a bogeyman...doing bogeyman things. Barbados (of all people) is a 'kindhearted cat lover.'

 **Special Warning:** Some violence. Some more feels. And a cliffhanger...cuz c'mon...it's me...

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! I managed to finish this particular chapter pretty quick, but the next may take longer. To answer one reviewer's question: some historical tidbits I do just happen to know. But I do a lot of research as I write each chap. I think it helps it all seem more genuine. Plus, history's cool. I always think it's criminal when teachers and textbooks manage to make fascinating topics boring. And if this fic can get people more interested in history, kudos points to me. And rescue points to you. Cuz, no one escapes GE requirements. No one. So it's good to have a couple avenues ready for when your history professor wants you to do a research paper. *wink* ;) You're welcome.

Anyways, I'll spoil you now and let ya suffer later XD

*Favorite Reviewer Quote: _"Everyone here was such a badass and I'm just a fish wow."_

And to Danny: Yes. It does give flashbacks to Labyrinth, doesn't it? Magical crystal ball juggling-going to drop it? Going to drop it? NOPE. Cuz he's the Goblin King! XDDD

Hope you all enjoy!

 **Chapter 39: Like Broken Playthings**

* * *

Reilley kicked off his slippers so he could jog more easily.

He leapt over another sleeping body. God he was worried about the kitchen staff. Hopefully, no one fell asleep on a stove. He shuddered at the thought.

Once Alfie was back underwing, he'd do a sweep of the house to make sure everyone was accounted for.

Rhys was using Arthur's phone to text the Royal Family to reschedule the "visit" for later in the week-their deepest apologies: "unexpected schedule conflict."

Americat nearly gave them all a heart attack dashing across their path in eager pursuit of a Corrigan. Probably served the damn thing right being so far from France.

"Good boy" Arthur muttered darkly.

Reilley hoped Camelot was alright-he was a fine feline but...he was far from lion-hearted. Poor little beast was still butthurt that Arthur had left him in the car for a footman to carry him in. If he'd overheard Wy right, the cat had been staying with Barbados ever since.

Camelot learned the hard way that kids trumped pets.

Hell, kids trumped just about everything.

Especially in Arthur's world.

Alistair eyed the hall suspiciously as he grumbled "I cannae believe none of us noticed."

"A bodach right under our noses" Reilley murmured.

"It must've been a recent infestation," Arthur growled.

"Why? Harder to sleep at night knowing you cheerfully led your lambs to the Slaughter Stone?" Alistair sneered.

"Alistair!" Rhys frowned deeply, "You're not help-"

"Portals everywhere" Alistair continued "It's been slinking around here for a while...must've been the break in..."

"Whaddya mean Scot?"

"Remember? Nothin' was stolen. On account that _breaking in_ was the point. I think it's been watchin' us for some time. I think it's a spy."

"If that's so, why would it blow it's own cover? No doubt this is a lucrative vantage point several times a year?" Arthur argued.

"Yeah, it overlooked Wy and Sealand" Reilley piped up as they moved along.

Arthur shuddered.

"Just after Alfie boy…" Reilley noted, "But why?"

Alistair shrugged, "Maybe magic, caffeine, and baby fat makes the flesh tastier and the King wants to try a bite too-"

"Bad form!" Both Reilley and Rhys hissed.

Completely unnecessary to twist the dagger like that! Arthur was worried enough as it was-and so soon after the Wendigo Crisis!

Rhys glared, "Thus, far. The Goblins only said they wanted Alfred, who they've dubbed 'The Little Prince,' to visit."

Arthur grit his teeth.

"Well, considering these are UnSeelies" Alistair muttered "I say it's safe to assume 'visit' is code for-"

"They might just want him as a political prisoner" Rhys immediately offered as an alternative. "So they have leverage over us and can-"

"Ransom him!" Reilley nodded. "Maybe you're right! They're probably still sore over the whole lake thing. I swear they ignore the issues of that time period on purpose just to be troublesome; the Avalon area was just safer. Can't we all just pretend something's really valuable and give them that?"

"Magical bottle cap?" Alistair cracked a smile.

Reilley grinned weakly,"There's gotta be at least one _Britannia's Brew_ around here somewhere. Arthur gets giddy just seeing that label. He has to have a stash. Hmm, Arthur? Arthur? Arthur, don't get so far ahead!"

Arthur didn't reply, but he did grip his sword more tightly.

Reilley sighed; and they just had all the carpets cleaned this year. Goblin blood was such a pain to scrub out.

But he couldn't imagine Arthur holding back.

Not when the UnSeelie's had likely triggered Alfred's breakdown somehow.

O it might not be their fault Alfred had such combustible baggage...but the way Reilley's instincts were tingling...they had cheerfully lit the match...

He suppressed a shiver as he thought of the boy. Electric blue eyes wide and crazed-filled with a rage he'd never witnessed before.

Alfred was usually so nice and easygoing and cheerful with an amusingly strong sense of justice.

Reilley's brows furrowed as he reexamined his thoughts.

A strong...sense of...justice…

Someone who was easygoing and cheerful...who was able to enforce justice...

Despite what Japan's animes often promoted...the two traits...clashed...didn't they?

And Alfred's history…

Waging constant war with all who opposed him…

He always seemed so naive and goofy and good humored when he tagged along with him and Scot through the trenches.

And yet his rate of mission success (usually solo) should've spoken for itself. It just...didn't somehow. Alfred was naturally serendipitous, so it was easier to assume things just fell into place for him…

But that look in his eyes…

Sharp, fey, dangerous…

Arthur's glares he understood.

Arthur was calculating and pragmatic-he knew when he had an advantage. He knew when he had to tread lightly. There was always an endgoal in sight.

Even when he was enraged-there was something he was some prize he was ultimately after. Which usually led him to be conservative in his actions-even at his cruelest...Arthur didn't destroy things just to destroy things…

There was always method in his madness.

Alfred...though…

Reilley watched more vines swarm the floor pushing furniture out of their way and ripping blinds down as they clumsily charged forward.

There was something unfocused in his fury.

What he actually hoped to gain from all this was...unknown...

Which made him terrifying!

Someone so young with so much power and no real restraint…and they'd encouraged him to pursue his magic!

What the fuck had they been thinking? Trying to train him up?

What a mistake...no wonder Rhys and Alistair had been so hesitant...their instincts had been at work. Dammit, they should never have brought him.

"Damnation, it feels like he's everywhere" Arthur breathed. "I can't...I can't locate him."

Rhys frowned and then slowly looked around before nodding, "He is."

"Wot?"

"He is around. Or rather, his magic is around...In the vines" Rhys brushed a hand against one gently. "So it's hard to pinpoint him."

"Not a bad defensive technique" Alistair begrudgingly admitted. "I wonder if a lower form of this was used in the cornfields...back then...it was just so slight, we were able to dismiss it. Whenever he took to hiding...I never could…" The Scotsman gave a begrudging grin "Well done laddie, I approve."

Reilley shook his head. How many? How many clues had they missed? That Alfred could be very dangerous when he wanted to be?

Arthur blew out an exasperated breath.

"We'll find him" Rhys assured "We have time. Alfred wants Texas to accompany them. They'll want to transport them with as little fuss as possible. And it's much harder to transport an adult versus a child. Which means they'll have to draw a circle to manage it. To do that they have to be in one of the larger rooms. We've already been through the ballroom and the dining hall, so that leaves the library, the Marble P-

"The Music Room" Arthur cut in-absolutely certain. "He's there. I know it. That was his chosen room at Kirkland Hall when-when...That's-that's-I know it!"

He dashed off.

Great. More sprinting. What a way to spend the morning and any minute, Alfred would likely discover he could manipulate the vines...

Reilley very nearly slammed into Arthur who had suddenly stopped.

"Jaysus man-"

"Shut it!" Arthur hissed.

Reilley startled into silence. When Arthur got that way, it was safer to just…

"What'd you see?" Alistair demanded.

Arthur crouched and picked something up. A peek revealed an iron ring sitting in his palm.

The hand shook and then Arthur resignedly put it on. His blond head snapped up as a piano began playing.

Alistair tugged Reilley to the side.

In a low voice, Alistair told him: "Once it starts...if...if it gets real bad, go to the perimeter and break it. Get us help from the Seelies."

Reilley swallowed and nodded. That was a last resort. Because a Fairy War erupting on the grounds would be nothing short of horrific and all of the nations and humans there could well become casualties. Especially with so many asleep!

Arthur was tense as he stood before the double doors of the Music Room.

From beyond them, Alfred began to sing; his voice echoed through the halls-sounding so clear and...young…and...

" _Everyone loves me like Springtime_

 _When the fields are a'blooming each day._

 _Everyone loves me like Springtime,_

 _And like Springtime their love never stays."_

...depressing. Aye, quite a little tune there. Guess he took after his ol' Uncle Reilley.

They all looked at Rhys expectantly who shrugged uncertainly, "I-I don't sense anything from the doors but-"

Both redheads shared a look and then charged-intending to break them down and in so doing-take out whatever guards were on the other side.

They were within three centimeters when a Guarding Spell paralyzed them both in place.

They gave a positively venomous glare at Rhys who blushed and then sagged, "Sorry lads, I...I'm not in tip top shape…that hex I did against Yamasee...that depleted me greatly. I...I need Yule to replenish my magic…"

Rhys bit his lip and didn't look any of his brothers in the eye.

Reilley could practically feel the anger and indignation radiating out of Alistair. And for good reason: it was exactly those sort of omissions that got Mam in the end.

If they'd known that she was so low in magic, they could've done things differently! Could've pulled together better...could've...

Rhys sighed, "I...I'm sorry I've...kept quiet...didn't want to make a fuss about it and upset everyone. When that spell wears off, we can try a window." He looked up-noticed Scotland's glare and immediately looked away. "I just thought I'd be able to make it until Yule, you know? But it'll be alright. We'll handle this and Yule is so close I'll...The UnSeelie's are horrible when it comes to oversight. They'll have protected the doors, but they usually get distracted and so...Arthur? Arthur!?"

Reilley fumed. That little nobhead! He ditched them!

* * *

Arthur didn't have time for that sort of shit. Rhys was an adult, if he wanted to sit it all out he could. But Arthur wasn't going to hover around guarding him.

No.

It was Arthur's little ones who needed him-who were depending on him! He unbuckled a sword belt from a suit of armor. Whenever the children were over he had a practice of emptying all the scabbards of their blades to lessen the chance of injury resulting from unsupervised swordplay. Australia was the one who prompted _that_ tradition.

Fortune was on his side in that his current blade fit the scabbard or he'd have had to break the end of it off. He fastened it around his waist and took the knife (that he'd been carrying precariously through one of his trouser's belt loops) and slid it into the leather sword frog on the alternate side.

It had cost him extra in 1240 to have multiple sword and knife frogs. But God, it was a good investment now!

" _Fondness fades fast with the Summer._

 _Your time with me shortens each day."_

He leapt up the stairs-trying to ignore lyrics that sought to undue him completely. He burst into the chamber that lay over the Music Room.

" _You'll tire of me through the Autumn._

 _The sky and your love will turn gray."_

He counted several paces (estimating where the chandelier was) and then knelt down and pulled the carpet back.

About...here...yes…

O he might not've been as powerful as once he was...but check that Global Presence Index! He was still there!

He slammed his hand in a 'shotei' or 'palm heel strike' that Japan had taught him for breaking boards.

He noted with satisfaction, how easily he broke through.

Confidence building he tore through the panels and boards-breath catching as he looked down and caught sight of a golden haired child below.

" _O nobody loves me in Winter;_

 _I've nothing left to make you stay."_

Dear God, it was hard hearing that but he couldn't afford to give into grief now.

He gripped the panels and flexed them until they gave. Until he had a hole large enough to squeeze through.

" _Wand'ring in woodland so lonely-_

 _Knowing you'll say you love me in May."_

He held the knife between his teeth, sucked in a breath to more easily force himself through the hole and carefully reached for the chain of the French Empire chandelier. He'd never been excessively fond of it, so he felt no guilt sliding down its chain to stand on it.

The beads and crystals quivered. It was a diplomatic gift from the Frog following the Napoleonic Wars. And he finally got to put the damn thing to some real use.

" _Everyone loves me in Springtime;_

 _Though they sigh that I'm cold and I'm vain._

 _For my heart is always in Winter,_

 _And in Winter my heart will remain."_

Blood pounded in his ears as he stared down at the lot of assembled UnSeelies. His anger spiked. How _**dare**_ they come here uninvited!?

Yes; they never quite forgave him for killing Morgan Le Fey, but…there'd always been rules before! Lines that weren't crossed!

Children were off limits!

He took the knife from his mouth, gripped its handle, and steadied his feet.

His eyes narrowed as the swarm of creatures sang back a verse to his child:

" _O Brenhin, come dance in the Darkness!_

 _And turn from the cruel World of Men._

 _Away with us, you'll not be lonely;_

 _For every UnSeelie's your Friend."_

"Fucking LIIIIIES!" Arthur screeched. Loud enough that the hag at the piano missed her notes and stopped.

"Wankers" he added in the hushed silence.

The motley array of creatures pointed up at him and chattered fearfully under their breath.

He rocked his weight-getting the mammoth sized chandelier to swing. When it reached a suitable arc, he readied his knife and then dived toward the drapes.

No different than sliding down the sails of on an enemy's ship.

It was a good knife. Aggressively spelled to preserve sharpness and strength, it didn't disappoint and cut through the material with ease.

Years of practice made compensating for his bad foot child's play.

He spun on his heel and entered the fray.

The UnSeelies dispersed from around him as he pulled his sword from its scabbard.

"How strange?" The Briton declared-brandishing his sword, "I don't recall sending an invitation to any one of you lot."

The UnSeelies practically tripped over each other to get out of his way.

A pity; a skirmish would've been a wonderful source of exercise and stress relief.

"What? You break into my home and are surprised I will defend it?" his voice echoed easily as the room was built specifically to carry sound. "Will no one face me? Bloody cowards!"

"Hey! Don't talk to my friends like that you limey bastard!" Alfred spat-sliding to a stop in front of Arthur and readjusting the straps of his Captain America rucksack.

"Your _friends_?" Arthur asked incredulously as he sheathed his sword, "Because...what? They sang a song that it was so? Alfred be reason-"

Alfred glared at him, "You think just because you swung in here like a boss that-that the hero is s'posed to back down? Huh?"

Arthur sighed and gingerly moved toward him, "Al-"

"Well you're wrong! Just cuz _**my**_ Fairy Friends aren't as pretty as _**yours**_ , doesn't mean you can be awful to them!"

Arthur froze, "F-fairies?"

Dear God, he thought _**all of these**_ were fairies!? Arthur was definitely going to have to be more thorough in his magic lessons.

"These are goblins! Alfred!"

The child blinked at him blankly, "Gob...lins?"

"Goblins, goblins, more goblins. Red cap. Ogress. Hag!" Arthur pointed at the different types of fae.

Alfred glanced behind him at a far corner that was pitch black, "And Grym?"

Arthur's hackles rose.

"He's not just a...dark fairy?" Alfred murmured.

" _That_ is a bodoach. A bogeyman. I don't want you anywhere near it!"

Alfred turned back to face him and snapped, "I'm a sovereign nation. I do what _I_ want. You're not the boss of me!"

Arthur's eyebrows twitched. Countless centuries where multitudes of men swore their allegiance and followed his commands…

Numerous monarchs pleading for his guidance and aid…

Countries all over the globe conceded he was a Master of the Sea, of warfare itself! A birthplace for all sorts of technological and philosophical ideas! An economic and cultural force! A historical presence often sought for advice and mediation among personifications!

And yet…

To one stubborn seven year old…

Alfred crossed his arms and huffed, "We're going on an adventure and you can't come!"

"We?"

"Yeah! Me and Tex. Texas is excited."

Arthur looked over to where the Texan was curled up on the floor snoring. Clearly, he'd been given a potent dose of a sleeping draught to keep him docile for the "ride over."

"Texas is unconscious."

Alfred blinked, looked over his shoulder, and flushed, "He-he'll BE excited. It'll be just like old times on the dusty trail but in ya know...Fairyland! With new places we've never been. Grym says not even you or your brothers know all the places there! Says you were too _scared_ " he sneered "To explore it all. Tex and I…" his eyes became worryingly bright-the way they did each time he had a religious revival. "We'll be the first. And it'll be great. They all keep cutting my funding for exploration...for outer space and underwater...Everyone's so...complacent nowadays...everyone gets a trophy just for showing up...I can't...do it. I want an adventure...a real one...heroes need adventures...otherwise...there's just...no point."

Arthur faltered at the hollow eyed look on the boy's face. He knew that feeling. Too well, truth be told. But he was shocked to see it present in someone Alfred's age.

"Alfred" he murmured gently "Alfred, you're too young to be talking of glory days. The sun is on you now, child. It wasn't during your Wild West."

No, the Sun had been on his Empire then. He blinked when the boy bristled.

"You just don't get it! We didn't _**need**_ the Sun!" Alfred hissed "We became the Sun. Suns. Like Tatooine! We had each other…didn't need...any of you. We found each other after you left us in the dark! When you Empires grow bored, you throw us away...like broken playthings..."

Parental abandonment.

It was a dark reality that couldn't be argued.

Both boys were abandoned.

Arthur couldn't refute it.

In truth, he'd waited at meetings for it to crop up.

He'd trembled during arguments knowing it could be thrown at his face anytime.

And after Alfred's real age became known; he knew and dreaded and waited and wondered when he'd be held accountable for the unforgivable.

He couldn't defend it. He wouldn't.

"You're right to be angry. I'm sorry Alfred. I wish I could've been stronger for you. It must've been very difficult being on your own so suddenly. I...I'm so sorry."

The child was silent for a long moment, "And now you think you can just be sorry! And that'll make everything okay?!"

Arthur sighed.

"Cuz the Hero just has to accept _**every**_ apology that comes his way?"

"Alfred, there aren't words to convey the level of regret I carry regarding-"

Alfred clapped his hands over his ears, "No! You're gonna say stuff and it'll sound reasonable. But I gotta think about us. I know you. He knows Spain. And people don't ever _**really**_ change. Deep down you think you are owed us. That we exist for your sake. And therefore you can make all our choices for us. I get all hopeful sometimes, but you always show your real colors. You'll always be a Redcoat."

The barb sank deeper than he liked.

"Alfred" he pleaded "Please Sweet, they're dangerous. They don't have your best interests in mind."

Alfred turned and stalked away as best he could with an overladen rucksack on his shoulders.

England stared hard at the Marvel backpack as its zippers jangled with too many keychains.

Again.

That horrible helpless feeling…of seeing his child turn his back on him...

" _I will choose Liberty after all…"_

Alfred sat down beside his brother-straightening the other's cowboy hat, "It'll be great Tex. Just you and me again. It's simpler that way. I'm sorry I got greedy. You're more than enough."

His heart twisted, "Alfred! Alf-"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

It was the slightest sound of something dragging just behind him. He spun-removing his sword with a _shiiiiing_ and raising it in a defensive block just as a set of claws slashed.

"What's...wrong Cadeyrn?" the bodoach whispered menacingly "You...look...so sad...What's one to you?...Truly?...You have so...many…"

Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine; bogeymen were largely mute things lurking in shadows. For it to have mastered English...meant it was very old…

God, just imagining all the babes it had feasted on…

Arthur swung his sword intending to behead it in one blow, but the monster dodged his blade.

"You stay away from my children," Arthur hissed.

"So pretty...this little one...my _**favorite**_ to watch when he sleeps…"

"You!" He swung again.

Damn thing was hard to hit. It knew how to use shadows to sink and dodge sword strikes.

"Daddy...don't leave me…" it mocked softly. "Don't let the... _ **monsters**_...get me…"

Arthur bared his teeth, "I swear if you touch one hair-"

"King wants...him…though you nations...heal...so fast...maybe I _**will**_...have a toe or two," the bodoach gave a nasty grin and slid its long dark tongue across its needlelike teeth.

* * *

Rhys pulled himself through the Music Room's window with a mighty heave.

Reilley helped steady him on the other side.

Just as he'd assumed. The UnSeelie's hadn't bothered with enchanting the windows. Honestly, he wasn't even certain they'd spelled all the doors. Probably just the ones, they thought were most likely to be used. Fae could be lazy like that.

He risked a look at Scotland-who glowered at him.

Yes; Alistair was still furious.

Rhys sighed; after this was done, he'd try and make amends. But right now…

He startled as he realized how close they were to several goblins. Hastily, he raised his crystal ball and was thoroughly surprised when Alistair, of all people, clapped a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

"Not warriors" he muttered. He raised his voice "And if they're smart, they won't try to be."

The goblins swallowed nervously and shuffled back.

Rhys frowned; it was the oddest thing. They were dressed for battle and yet...reluctant to engage?

He surveyed the room.

There certainly was a surprising amount of females present for an invasion and they... weren't in armor (no matter how outdated). And there were hennins-lots of hennins-Single, double, pointed, truncated. French hoods, tall hats, even Regency Era bonnets dotted the crowd here and there.

While a good lot of the males were in armor, plenty were in suits from various eras-the fancier ones trimmed with fur.

Alistair shouldered his sword and chuckled.

Rhys gave him a wary glance.

"They're not warriors" he repeated and laughed some more.

"Alis-"

"Wear whatever you've got, tha's best" the Scotsman murmured.

"Ah" Reilley replied. "Fur coat and no knickers, hmm?"

Rhys looked again. None of the armor fit quite right. Nor were all the dresses well-tailored.

Heirlooms…

Antique heirlooms donned for…

Rhys blinked.

Donned for the honor of meeting _Brenhin_?

"Um? Question?" Reilley cut in. "If they're not...um...fighting. Do we just ask them to go? Or...um?"

Alistair cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed: "Clear out! C'mon now. Clear out. Show's over."

"Ya don't understand" one gnome in a doublet argued "We can't just leave! We've got orders from the king!"

"Please don't slay us" an abbey lubber begged hysterically. "I was up at all hours practicing the song. I don't want to die for a song-"

With the flat of his sword, Alistair tapped him: "Thwarted."

It gave a huge sigh of relief and hastily hurried over to a portal.

"Thwarted. Thwarted. Thwarted."

Three more raced away.

"C'mon gents. Ya heard 'em" Alistair shook his head in disbelief "They're under orders to be here."

A group of female creatures approached, "Just...say you've thwarted us. We don't want to chance ripping any of our lace."

Reilley nodded, "You...ladies are...thwarted."

There were several chorus of "Thank you, sir" as they departed.

"It's kind of anticlimactic" Alistair grumbled as lines formed-awaiting taps of dismissal.

"Not over there it isn't" Reilley pointed to where Arthur was battling the bodoach.

Arthur was hacking savagely at it-grinning with ill constrained bloodlust each time his sword grazed the monster. The bloody thing was quick though. And those claws...if they should cut Arthur...they could do him grievous injury.

Arthur pushed the thing forward-forcing him into the light where it shrieked and hissed and writhed.

Their brother pinned it down with his foot.

With his weak ankle to consider, Rhys found himself nervous for Arthur.

Arthur brought his sword up for a finishing blow, but on its descent-vines caught the blade and forced it away.

As Arthur struggled, the monster rolled out from under the blond's hold and dove into a dark shadow for safety.

"A-alfred?!" Arthur yelled-green eyes blazing.

"I won't let you hurt my friend!" the child declared.

"He isn't your friend!" Arthur shouted back.

But the child didn't listen and at this point Rhys wasn't sure who was in the right or wrong.

Arthur struggled against the vines as they swarmed him-wrapping around his sword arm until he couldn't move it at all.

Alfred stomped a foot, and the vines brought Arthur forcibly to his knees.

The child paced back and forth, "You've always gotta have things your way."

Rhys nervously sent his crystal ball back into the Ether and removed the dagger Reilley had on his belt-ignoring his squawk of protest. Eire still had his staff to protect him.

Arthur needed help. He carefully made his way near.

"You talk about talking," Alfred scorned "But when it comes down to it, you just do what you wanna do. And you get mad at me when I do too."

Arthur tried to rise and the vines brought him down even more harshly.

"...Sucks doesn't it? Being forced down?"

"I do know the feeling" Arthur replied tiredly. "Better than you may realize."

"No, you haven't!" the child argued "Rome was the bad guy!"

Since there was quite a pillar of thorny plant life holding Arthur in place now, Rhys found it easy hiding behind it.

"Arthur" Rhys greeted quietly.

The blond stilled and then sagged, "...Hey…"

"Enjoying your lecture?" Rhys murmured lightly.

"Hmm."

"-You _expect_ the bad guy to do it" Alfred announced "It's so much worse when-"

Rhys winced as Alfred's memories flooded across his bond with his father like wildfire...and Rhys (because he was trying to free Arthur's feet from the thick canes) was along for the bumpy ride.

 _...Alfred..._

 _Being forced to his kneel in front of King George III..._

 _Being slapped at dinner for giving his political opinion on the crown…_

 _Getting a punch from a joke gift during one of his birthdays..._

 _Being slapped again after he'd scared Arthur to death by turning a gun at himself to escape Osha's manipulation..._

 _Being slapped once more during World War II when he interfered with an officer delivering a summons to England at the hospital…_

 _Being dragged and pushed and shoved during various campaigns together…_

 _Arthur pointing a gun at his head during the Revolutionary War…_

 _Alfred wept in the center of the darkened Music Room-missing half his face and several fingers. No family and no friends now. Brought to his knees by all he'd lost... Father did this to him..._

"NO! NO, I _**never**_ ordered that!" Arthur refuted.

"You didn't even visit me to make sure I was alright," the child's voice wavered.

"Sweetheart, I never even _knew_ until this year! Your uncles _deceiv_ -"

The child scoffed, "Reilley and Alistair and Rhys all knew. And you didn't? I'm s'posed to believe that?"

"I didn't know!" Arthur insisted. "I'd have taken you straight home with me if I had. God, Alfred, I-I-"

Rhys sawed through the bottom-most vines mechanically. Until this year, Rhys had thought much the same as Alfred regarding Arthur. While Rhys had harbored a good amount of ill feeling for the child as a result of 1812 for himself and his brothers, he'd been rather alarmed by the lack of concern on Arthur's part regarding the child's injury.

Especially considering the warmth he'd bestowed on the boy during childhood.

All those letters Rhys had sent to his brother-updating him on the boy's recovery in the immediate aftermath of the head wound. And nothing. No response at all.

Surprisingly callous. Reluctantly, he too assumed the child had been disowned and he did his best to make peace with that. Alfred wasn't his ward, so it wasn't his place to lecture Arthur...or so he'd thought then...and the teenager _**had**_ turned on them all.

Wales was part of an Empire. Sympathy wasn't a luxury he could afford and so he used his own hurt and resentment to steel himself.

Though he'd found it odd and fickle that Arthur practically fell over himself any time Alfred sickened while visiting him in winter.

And if he was honest he'd felt some real contempt whenever he viewed it and had privately agreed with Alfred's sentiment: _'Sometimes Father's heart is in chest'_ and sometimes it wasn't.

Arguably, that's what prompted all those violent moments they'd reviewed just now.

Arthur was guilty for them. Though most of them were largely motivated by fear. Whenever Arthur's heart was conquered by fear, he acted out badly.

Alfred was either too angry, too inexperienced, or just too...goddamn young to really understand Arthur's own pain over each memory.

Rhys felt it clearly:

What would King George have done to his little one had he remained defiant? What would the servants' eavesdropping have led to if teen Alfred's comments went undisciplined? What would've happened if Alfred's brains had splattered on that forest floor?

What would Arthur's men have thought of their leader if he hadn't confronted their enemy at all? It was better that Arthur engage him than one of them. Arthur could disarm him. Could get him to surrender. He'd only injure if it was absolutely necessary. He knew how to dip the musket at the last second, to make it a nonlife threatening shot. The others would shoot to kill.

What if Alfred wasn't fast or agile or clever enough in the trenches?! What was he thinking interfering with his summons? He'd get himself killed gallivanting into battle all alone without him!

Yes; Arthur had a lot to answer for…

And it would be difficult getting a child to understand the more complex motives fueling his "cruelty."

But that one.

That last one…

 _...Father did this to him..._

No.

No, his father didn't.

Arthur was innocent on that count.

And woe to anyone who argued otherwise.

"I would _**never**_ allow it!" Arthur snarled "I was firm on it. You were to be captured. No harm was to be done to you. No one harms what's mine!"

Rhys sighed. Not the best response, but the feeling in Arthur was sincere: If he'd known, he'd have ripped that man apart himself...Fact.

Rhys sighed as Alfred reacted as he feared.

"I'm NOT yours!" Alfred raged "I'm my own-"

Arthur wouldn't have that, "You are _**my**_ child! That makes you _**MINE**_!"

Rhys shuddered. So possessive. And he believed it with every fiber of his being.

"O really? And you're _**my**_ father. Does that make _you_ _ **MINE**_?"

"YES! Yes! Fucking finally! God boy, you can be daft sometimes! YES, it does!" Arthur shouted back.

"H-huh?"

"We belong to each other" Arthur breathed. "We're family. We're supposed to be together."

Yes; they did belong together probably...in an asylum somewhere.

Rhys risked a look as he worked to free his brother.

With his unoccupied hand, Arthur reached for the child. Alfred flinched (expecting a slap) and then stared as Arthur gently cupped his face instead.

"There, there" Arthur murmured as he thumbed away tears. "It's alright."

"You're...supposed to be angry" Alfred mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"You're" the child hiccupped "You're messing it up. You...you're s'posed ta…"

"I see; I'm supposed to play the part of vengeful tyrant, hm? And you righteously defeat me and ride into the sunset?" Arthur ventured.

"With Texas," Alfred nodded.

"Aha, I see. Shh, it's alright."

Rhys sucked in a breath-there was always something so heart wrenching about the squeaking sounds children made as they sobbed.

"There, there. Oh shhh, love. "

The child scrubbed roughly at his face, "I wanted you to know how...bad it...felt…"

Trust a child to semi-demolish a house in order to convey something as abstract as a feeling-

Rhys stiffened.

That…

Was exactly what…

Rhys felt his jaw drop.

Alfred had essentially recreated much of what had happened to him that fateful day.

House under attack.

Check.

Trapped and brought down.

Check.

Feeling of helplessness as someone you loved wrought devastation on your head...

Arthur stroked the child's face tenderly, "I'm so sorry. I wish I could take that all away. I do" Arthur insisted "But we'll make it. We _**will**_. Thank you."

"W-what?"

Arthur repeated it, "Thank you for talking to me about your troubles. I can't help you when I don't know what's wrong."

The boy sniffled, "I just wish _you'd_ been honest."

"About what dear?"

"Me driving you crazy. And you deciding enough was enough and sending me away. You coulda just told me. I'd have left...if you just asked...but you had to be sneaky!" the young voice broke.

"Wot?"

Alfred sniffled, "I saw it on your computer!"

"You broke into my computer?" Arthur muttered.

"...yeah…" Alfred rubbed his nose on his sleeve and hiccuped some more. "Grym said you were up to something. And he was right. You...ordered a ticket to-to-to send me back-back-back to the-"

"And that's the straw that broke your back?" Arthur grumbled flatly.

"Don't act like it's nothing!"

Arthur chuckled, "My apologies. I didn't realize you had a recent name change."

"What?"

"You saw a ticket?"

"Yeah…"

"And your name is Momilani Jones now?" Arthur inquired.

"...huh?"

"Surprise," Arthur murmured-somewhat amused, "I thought it might be hard having Christmas here...away. So I planned from the start that Hawaii, Texas, and Alaska would come to visit. Alaska can only stay the day. But Momilani originally planned to stay for the Ball. Something came up and she knew she had to leave early. She asked if I could find a better airfare deal. I did. That's what you saw. Though I imagine Grym might've used a bit of a glamour to trick you. You should've just asked me Love, and I'd have straightened this all out-"

Alfred gave a wide-eyed stare of horror and choked out, "You...you…did that...for me…?"

Rhys frowned-not the reaction either he or his brother were expecting.

Arthur squirmed restlessly as the child pulled away from his touch.

"Alfred, it's alright," Arthur reassured him "Everything will be alright. Just release me, okay?"

The boy sniffled, "I'm trying, they're not listening."

"No, I don't suppose they are" a hag cackled as she hobbled near-hugging a thick tome cracked with age.

Rhys hastily renewed his efforts at sawing the vines.

Dammit, Alistair and Reilley were both busy at the far end of the room getting UnSeelies to depart. Rhys was in no shape for a duel. He had to get Arthur free.

The hag grinned, "Poor little Harvester. The Scales of Reciprocity are a bitch, aren't they?"

The child kicked his feet against the ground, but nothing happened.

He waved a hand at the vines. Nothing.

He shot forward and began tugging at the vines holding Arthur in place.

"Let go," Alfred ordered them.

"Watch your hands now. Careful Sweet, the thorns" Arthur warned.

The child pulled harder, "Let. Go!"

"Your Scales are empty now, dear," She breathed in the child's ear-jowls wobbling as she spoke.

"Get away from us!" Arthur ordered.

She chuckled again and as much for Arthur's discomfort as Alfred's-she used a long, dirty nailed finger to tuck hair behind the child's ear. "You're harmless."

Perhaps magically, but Alfred used that moment to elbow her hard and shove her away.

She swore as she hit the ground, and rasped indignantly, "I'm a woman!"

Alfred did an unnecessary cartwheel into a fighting stance, "Equal Opportunity!" He waited a beat and added "Hag."

"Your boy watches too many movies, Albion" Rhys muttered as he went to Arthur's front and began cutting through the vines trapping Arthur's sword arm. "Dammit, Arthur," Rhys scolded "Hold still. I don't want to injure you-"

"You're taking too bloody long."

"And I'm old" the hag insisted as she climbed to her feet-foregoing her book. She cracked the knuckles on her hands menacingly.

"Hurry it up!" Arthur hissed.

Hags could deliver nasty hexes that were especially powerful against children and young maidens.

"So?" Alfred barked back belligerently as the two circled each other "I don't believe in Age Discrimination either. If you're gonna dish it, you better be able to take it back!"

"What about distractions?" she asked dryly.

Alfred blinked, "Huh?"

Rhys's breath seized.

Arthur tensed.

Alfred glanced down.

She'd moved him into a heavily shadowed spot.

The bodoach's hands reached up out of the dark and wrapped themselves around Alfred's legs.

"G-grym?" the child murmured in disbelief. "What're you-"

The claws pulled.

With a horrified scream, Alfred was dragged straight down through a portal.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or McDonald's. Or Star Trek and its phrase: "Space...the Final Frontier!" Or the Wright Bros.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Another potshot at British teeth. Derogatory term for ugly women...and there's sooo many to choose from U.K. -_- More magical creatures. Somewhat disturbing imagery. Feels...probably.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! They keep me workin'! ^_^ Fav Reviewer Quote: _"Everyone here was such a badass and I'm just a fish wow."_ To Danny: Yes. It does give flashbacks doesn't it? Magical crystal ball juggling-going to drop it? Going to drop it? NOPE. Cuz he's a Goblin King!

Hey all you who are hankering for more family fics with NO PAIRINGS and lots of ADVENTURE!

ListenerofShadows has just released a neat Family/Fantasy Fic called: "Never Last." It's an Alternate Universe fic that uses Neverland mythology for an interesting twist-because J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan wasn't half so sweet and innocent. Family/Friendship Awesomeness arises from Lilli and Vash as Siblings At Odds, Daddy!Arthur and Son!Alfred, and the Bad Touch Trio as pesky pixies.

Her fic stars:

2p America as… Peter Pan

France as… Tinkerbell (XD)

Lichtenstein as… Lilli aka 'Replacement Goldfish Wendy'

Switzerland as…Vash-the-Overprotective-Adult-Older-Brother

America as…Your Friendly Neighborhood Mermaid-man-kid…(whom I've affectionately dubbed...Fishstick)

And drumroll please for…

England as… Captain Hook!

(Other Hetalia Characters ALSO appear :DDD) So check it out! :D

In the meanwhile though, I hope you enjoy this latest chap! Onwards!

 **Chapter 40: Ever Ready To Topple**

* * *

Alistair very nearly dropped his claymore at the piercing wail.

The goblin he was dismissing flinched as his blade twitched.

He glanced over at the far side of the room.

Given Rhys's proximity, he probably burst an eardrum.

He winced as it came again.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Arthur had to be close to rupturing a vocal chord.

Dammit all, he thought they had it all under control over there! More or less.

"What's all that caterwauling for?"

Reilley gave him a wide eyed look and gulped, "They got him."

"Wha?"

"Alfred. The bodach got...him," Reilley murmured.

For a moment, Alistair was stunned...and then irritation swept through before worry could even take a half-step forward, "I turn my back for one bloody minute-I swear I'm the only one with even half a brain-you keep dismissing these jokers. I'll straighten this out."

He jogged over just as Arthur began thrashing in an attempt to free himself from a snarl of vines.

Rhys hovered nearby uncertainly- a dagger clutched in his hand. Clearly, he'd made short work of most of the stalks, but Arthur's spastic movements prevented him from finishing up.

"Oi," Scotland growled. "Move again and lose the arm."

Arthur stilled.

Alistair swung his sword in a mighty arc-slicing through the top of the vine. He reached a hand in, got a solid hold of the back of Arthur's shirt and pulled his brother out of the brambles.

Arthur used his newfound freedom to tackle Rhys.

So much for gratitude.

"Damn you! Why?!" Arthur shook the Welshman. "Why didn't you do anything? He was right there!" His voice cracked. "He was right there! _**You**_ weren't rooted to the goddamn ground! You could've-you should've...my baby!"

Before either of his older brothers could respond-Wales with a denial of the allegation or Scotland with a 'pull yourself together!'

The double doors facing the garden burst open with Wy and Sealand romping in-plastic laser tag armor affixed to their dressy outfits. Alistair's eyebrow twitched-Wy already had a run in her tights with bits of bark here and there. As if it hadn't been uncomfortable enough accompanying her to buy them at a little lassie boutique at the mall with all the mums there watching him distrustfully until they realized he had a little girl with him. Now he was going to have to repeat the experience in town.

And that wasn't even addressing the toys they'd pilfered!

If pandemonium hadn't just occurred they'd have been in for a laldie.

They'd found the equipment Rhys had ordered for Alfred's special activity-which the brothers had jointly decided to hold here at the estate versus some poor arcade and risk substantial property damage should competitive streaks get the better of their wards.

They'd had all the paraphernalia boxed up in an area that was off-limits...and those anklebiters just helped themselves. God, Arthur had a habit of raising brats.

Though, Alistair would admit he was simultaneously annoyed and impressed by the magical tantrum Alfred had just thrown.

It made him optimistic that Alfred's magic wasn't fundamentally pacifistic as he'd feared.

"We heard a scream. Is everyone okay?" Wy demanded-one hand on her hip, the other holding her plastic blaster.

She, like Sealand, was totally unaware of the UnSeelies loitering about.

"You wouldn't believe what's happened in the garden! It's like the hedges just went mad and-" Sealand stumbled over a vine, "What the? In here too? Wow! Whoa! I-Arthur?" Sealand gasped. "W-what happened?"

Arthur roughly scrubbed at his eyes as Rhys (with more consideration than Alistair would've given) gently shoved his brother off.

Alistair fidgeted and frowned-he was...forgetting something.

He shifted his weight. Now, Alfred was in a bind alright, but there was a banshee that owed Scotland one. If he remembered right she was unpledged to either Court, but she had a sister that had chosen the UnSeelies. So she'd probably know the way or could ask.

The problem with fae was that if they didn't want you find them...you wouldn't. Not unless you had a guide. He'd have to wait until dark to try and summon her to him though…

And unfortunately, Alfred would be quite a tasty morsel in many UnSeelie eyes…and sunset seemed pretty damn far away.

"T-texas? Are you alright?" Wy called. "Did he fall? What's all this chalk on the ground? Why's he in the middle of-"

Fuck! Scotland turned and sprinted toward the transportation circle just in time to watch a hag enter it with her Grimoire and activate it. She blew a spiteful kiss.

Hackit.

The lines glowed, the ground gave way as a portal formed, and Wy screamed as she fell.

Alistair dove and, because luck was with him, caught her by one dainty wrist.

There was a cacophony of distressed swears as his brothers clambered over to help.

It wasn't that she was heavy, but the Ether was a violent void-either swallowing or expelling. And it seemed eager to snap up a little girl.

Dammit all, the portal was closing! And swiftly! He used his sword to try and keep it propped open while he extracted Wy out of the frigid Ether.

Relief coursed through him when Reilley's staff joined in and their weapons formed an X-He'd only had the lass part way out. The danger of her being split in half at the waist as the portal closed had been very real.

Thankfully, their combined efforts slowed the sealing long enough.

He released a heavy breath. Rescued. One down. Two to go.

No sooner did he have her out, she was immediately engulfed by Arthur's arms.

His brother was fussing over her and for good reason: her nails and lips were already turning blue.

The Ether...especially an untamed spot like that (probably teeming with wraiths and ghosts)...was deathly cold...especially for those without Magic.

He had to hope Tex was tough enough to endure it. He wasn't sure if having The Sight was enough to lend the lad some defense against Supernatural cold.

"W-what-what h-happened?" Wy mumbled-eyes wide in her little face.

"You're alright," Arthur assured as he kissed her temple. "It'll be alright."

He rocked her gently and greedily accepted Rhys's coat on her behalf-wrapping the child up.

"The ground was gone and now it's back," Sealand mumbled.

"Aye" Alistair agreed gruffly. His sword and Reilley's staff now sat unassumingly on a somewhat uneven tile floor.

He glanced around. Alfred's vines had really done a number on...everything. Windows, tiles, doors...he was kind of...proud. Though it'd be hell cleaning it up. In the future, they'd need to start stocking up on shears.

"I…" the boy swallowed nervously as if he hardly dared to believe it. "I…"

"Spit it out Barnacle."

The boy turned to him, "Is that...Black Magic?"

No use pussyfooting.

"Aye."

* * *

Arthur paced like a caged thing while Rhys set more blankets over Wy and Alistair kindled a fire in the hearth.

Reilley did a headcount and found the Manor's inhabitants were starting to stir again with those who were enchanted first, being the first to awaken as the spell wore off.

The staff hadn't suffered any real casualties (just one black eye and a few bruises) and while his wards were all picking leaves and twigs from their hair and clothes-none of them appeared injured either.

Though...according to Reilley, everyone was groggy and irritable.

Arthur paused and reached over the back of the couch to pet Wy's hair.

Poor little Wy.

Her cheeks puffed sullenly as her teeth chattered, "I'm not a baby."

Arthur sighed.

They all said that.

And...they were all wrong. Even if he was too soft to argue the point.

He cupped her cheek, sighed again, and then moved away to pace some more.

Alfred.

God.

His eyes stung.

There had to be something he could do.

Surely, the Seelie Queen could help him? Though, if she did assist him in infiltrating the UnSeelie's Fortress, he could very well start off another Fairy War. But his son needed him!

The look on his face when the bodoach took him…

" _Though you nations...heal...so fast...maybe I will...have a toe or two..."_

The thought of Alfred in that monster's hands!

He gnashed his teeth and gripped his sword hilt hard.

"Arthur, don't do anything drastic..." Reilley murmured haltingly.

Arthur turned away and noticed Rhys meddling with the features on his phone.

Annoyed, he held his hand out-waiting for it to be returned to him.

Rhys ignored him, "I accidentally turned it off earlier. You've missed several calls. Some from Parliament. Mostly it's from someone called Eva…"

Arthur shook his head dejectedly.

He didn't care about any of that. He cared about…

Red.

That fragment of Alfred that he'd raised, nurtured, and lost…

No…

No.

Arthur took a harsh breath. He wasn't lost. He'd been right there; ready to reconcile after their first war. Had a house waiting for them in the country. Childishly optimistic that Father could and would forgive any transgression...because...because he believed in the best of his father.

And didn't that sting?

Arthur had been too blinded by fury and hurt and his own perception of what constituted betrayal...

Red was abandoned.

Snubbed. Belittled. Criticized. Ignored. Cast down at every social function. Ignored at every group meeting. Forced to a far end of the room so the better established and powerful countries could have the best seats at the table. Abandoned physically and emotionally.

...Echoing Osha's treatment of him...

And his faith in his father fractured as every promise, as every "Stay safe my darling," every "I'll love you til the end of all things"….

 _"And you were so well-spoken, you could make anything sound beautiful. But words are just air. So all of your promises were empty from the start."_

...rang false…

 _"You expect the bad guy to do it...It's so much worse when-"_

When it's someone you love, who hurts you.

Which was precisely Arthur's own problem with that first war: the child he loved had turned on him! Had chosen his citizens over his colonizer. And while he could, as a nation, respect that...as a father, it sliced his heart open.

" _...tricked me…"_

But he'd never assumed the child's love wasn't real; that Alfred's affection was some elaborate scheme. It was the boy's loyalty that he'd gone to war for.

" _...tricked me…"_

Alfred didn't outright say it, but...those memories...that pain…that doubt…

 _You_ _ **hurt**_ _me..._

So much time spent through the years reaching out for Alfred-having a moment of tenderness only to recoil when he immediately made contact with something sharp.

Lately, he'd blamed Blue for every prick and cut, but...

Coldness...deconstruction...distance...those tactics came from Blue.

Sharp emotional reactions...

Sharpness came from Red.

Arthur had been reaching through broken shards searching for something that once was there-not realizing that the sharpened splinters were what was left of it.

What they'd had was gone. He could see and accept that now. It meant he could stop searching. Could stop lamenting and idealizing it because he also finally discerned how fragile it had been and why. Somewhere deep there'd been unshakeable doubt throughout its foundation.

And while Arthur felt a good deal of responsibility for its destruction, there was a surprising amount of relief. There were already deep fissures in it from Sarah...from Osha...from various natives and settlers and hardships…

It was weathered and brittle from the beginning. It was ill thought out, haphazardly constructed by too many architects and too few materials, and clumsily handled. Ever ready to topple.

Arthur could now move forward-salvage those pieces and together they'd build something new! Something strong and secure and lasting. This time he could give more. Stabilize it.

So close.

He and Alfred were so bloody close! Longstanding issues had finally been put on the table for discussion and then-

"T-there's vines everywhere and the ground tried to s-swallow Wy" Sealand repeated for the upteenth time. "Magic's...real?!"

"Yes, Peter. I've told you that before," Arthur replied tiredly, "Many times."

"Yeah, but...magic's _**real**_?"

"Arthur?" Rhys addressed. "Eva's calling again."

Arthur waved a dismissive hand.

No.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't force a pleasant tone and talk concerts or children-play-dates or...anything...not after all this.

Still, he was a bit dismayed that Rhys answered in his stead: "This is Rhys. Arthur's brother."

Rhys…was horrible to talk to on the phone. Reserved to begin with (and even moreso when strangers were involved), a conversation on a cell (without visible cues like head nods and hand gestures of 'go on') meant there could be long unnatural pauses of complete silence.

Though...Arthur saw that Rhys did still instinctively nod as he listened.

"I see…Where?...No...Yes. No. Of course. Indeed. Yes. Thank you."

To their shock, Rhys met their stares with a slight smile.

"Creepy," Reilley noted.

Rhys frowned at that and his eyes narrowed.

"Better."

Rhys rolled his eyes, "Alfred and Texas are at McDonald's and Alfred's very upset. Eva wants to know what you plan to do about it. She asked if you were on your way. I told her: yes."

Of course he was on his way! Of course!

"The fuck?" Alistair replied.

Rhys shrugged, "He must've negotiated for it. I don't know. I don't want to look this gift horse in the mouth though. What matters is that he's there now."

"McDonalds?" Reilley replied flatly "Fairy teleportation magic used for...a trip to Maccy D's? I give up. Children today. No respect for the Ancient Arts. None. Well, let's get the car ready-"

"It's in London," Arthur shook his head as he checked his watch.

"Gah! That's hours away!" Reilley exclaimed.

"Eva said she'd try and stall-"

"I need a unicorn," Arthur breathed. It was the only feasible option. Time was running out.

"Unicorns are real _**too**_!?" Peter called after him as the Briton raced out of the house-heart in his throat.

If he could find one…

If they were swift enough…

Hope ignited in his breast.

"MINT!" he screeched as he neared the border he'd set up...like a fool. A well-stationed brownie or pixie could've alerted him to a bodoach! Hell, if he'd just questioned the asrai more thoroughly! Asked for details regarding the culprit! All he'd had to do was ask if they were fae or not!

God, he hoped Mint was waiting nearby-ready to nip his ears for shutting her out. Which he'd readily accept as long as...as long as...

"MIIINT! Help!" He shamelessly begged. "I need to find a unicorn! NOW!"

* * *

Alfred sniffled over his sundae-watching one tear land squarely on a clump of fudge.

One long finger caught the second tear midair in its nail, and carefully deposited it in a vial.

"Waste. Not." the hag murmured as she hooked it back onto a chain necklace around her neck. One of the other vials looked unsettlingly like it was filled with human teeth.

He tried not to stare at it and ruin what little appetite he had.

"We all pay an exorbitant price for children's tears," she complained. "Not like the old days where yeh could just snatch 'em up and let 'em bawl while you're settin' up your cauldron. Any brat we wanted...whenever we wanted. Now there's rules; a waiting period. Or you'll be up to your eyeballs in fines. And that's if ya don't take a little nibble before sending word that ya caught one. They want us all to share now. Mark me, I love my coven as much as the next-"

Alfred stared at her rotting teeth...twenty-no-eighteen times as bad as regular British teeth; he literally asked for this: the most awkward lunch ever.

And in his life, he'd been at quite a few. Dining at a table with Northerners and Southerners in 1866 had been all shades of uncomfortable for one. Any meal with Russia and Belarus was...interesting. And chowing down with Cuba to talk business was always tense. That glare man...it didn't waver at all-from the time they sat down, ordered, conversed, ate, and picked up the check.

He supposed it was good that when he demanded that Texas accompany him to Fairy Land, he also insisted that they pitstop for McDonald's before heading over.

Cuz in the midst of losing his temper like a little brat, he'd realized that he wanted all the fun stuff that Arthur was holding him back from...and he wanted it right then.

He licked his spoon despondently as the hag went on and on-his treat just didn't taste as yummy as it should have.

What made things even worse was that Eva was working today and she kept trying to get involved.

" _Hello, I can help the next-Alfie!? Oh sweetie what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did you fall? Where's your Daddy?" Her eyes looked in every direction for a blond head and bushy eyebrows._

 _He shook his head, "I-I need...a H-h-happy…" The irony of the word wasn't lost on him. "Meal with-with nuggets and lots of different sauces...and I'mma c-coming back later for a sundae. You don't need to gimme a discount...I've been bad..."_

 _Geez. Understatement of the year...After what he just pulled..._

" _Alfie..."_

" _S'okay," Alfred insisted, "I just got something in my eye. Eyes."_

" _Yes, love. It's tears."_

" _Nah, I'm just...I'm just allergic...to...sadness…"_

" _Alfred. Where is your Dad?" She demanded again-ignoring her coworkers' looks as the line backed up behind him._

" _We...had...a fight and I said some stuff and I...meant it...and I can't take it back..and I made a mess and I...I'll figure this out."_

 _Eva's parental expression of firm disapproval didn't budge._

 _He took a deep breath and tried to man up, "I got this. I-I got this. I'll fig-figure it out."_

 _Solemnly, she handed him a receipt with his order number._

He fucked up so bad it hurt.

He really was a disaster like everybody feared he'd be-he halfheartedly traced the winning route on a maze printed on his Happy Meal's box.

He trashed the house, pretty much invited a bunch of weirdos without anyone's permission, hurt his Dad, and dragged Texas here without really considering whether his bro wanted to come at all.

He stared at the nearby booth where Texas was slumped over the table.

Yeah...he really hadn't thought this all out.

He pulled his Coke closer and took a deep gulp-eyeing the dark shadow inside the plastic slide where Grym was waiting for him to finish. Every time the lights flickered, they became a bit dimmer and Grym seemed to come a littler closer.

Alfred was stalling for time-lingering as he dipped fries into his sundae as he tried to piece together some sort of plan.

His Dad was right. They weren't his friends. Not really. Dude, when he'd demanded answers for why they'd violently whisked him away they said they were following orders. The UnSeelie King was waiting.

That's what it all came down to.

What a king wanted…

Special…

Pft...his ego honestly fell for that…

Idiot.

The way Grym kept eyeing his backpack-he knew the Old Man's wand was in there.

That's probably what they'd really been after the whole time.

He was a frickin' pawn!

Ah well, it was too late to regret.

Now how was he going to back out?

It was tempting to sneak off to the men's room and make an emergency cellphone call to Arthur because he'd probably know what to do in a situation like this...but…

Alfred's heart sank and the hag cursed as a tear splatted against his burger's empty wrapping.

To cause so much trouble...and then come crying for help…

The gall of it...

No.

He got himself into this, he needed to get himself out.

* * *

Arthur felt incredibly optimistic as the unicorn cantered into the McDonald's car park. Unicorns were blessed creatures able to gallop long distances at supernatural speed.

Apparently, like the rest of fairykind. There'd been several nosy ones plodding around in the woods interested in seeing his son. Fairflash eagerly volunteered to be a part of said child's "rescue."

"Thank you Mint," Arthur beamed to where the disgruntled fairy was sitting on his lap. With his unringed hand (for iron could hurt a fae like her), he pet her ears affectionately, "For helping. I truly apprec-"

She wiggled her ears out of his grasp and turned her nose up, "I didn't do it for you. I did it for Alfred."

Yes; she was rather peeved with him but…

They'd been friends for millennia and while it might seem presumptuous, he had no doubts she'd come to forgive him in time. They'd both done plenty of foolish things throughout the years. It was just one more tally on his side of the board.

"We never speak of this. Ever. Any of us," Alistair ordered as he dismounted.

"Which part?" Arthur asked bemused, "Being two men riding a horse together? Or the way you screamed like a 'frightened little lass' when we jumped that fence?"

"Yeah, Alba," Mint giggled "Didn't know your voice could hit that note. You should join a choir!"

Scotland went as red as his hair, "Shut it!"

Honestly, Arthur was equal parts surprised and touched that Scotland had followed him into the woods.

When he'd asked why, his brother had sniffed that it wasn't because he was worried about Arthur. He just didn't want to see the operation get botched because Arthur got too "Touchy Feely" and forgot to handle matters.

" _You had a free hand and a knife," Scotland pointed out "You should've thrown it. That would've slowed the bodach down."_

Which...dammit all...he was right! But he'd been so distracted and heartsick and worried! And even if he had! What if something went horribly wrong and he harmed Alfred instead!?

"No Fairflash," Arthur murmured as the unicorn made to follow. "You've done your part."

The animal's ears flicked back in annoyance and Arthur sidestepped away-not wanting to be nipped by its large teeth.

"Arthuuur," Mint scolded "Don't be mean. You can't just dismiss him. He wants to see Alfred."

Goodness, the way they were all acting you'd think his son was a bloody celebrity!?

"Have it your way then."

The creature's ears relaxed.

"But you may be in for a wait."

The tail swished and the unicorn may as well have shrugged: Fine by me.

Alistair entered the establishment first-not bothering to hold the door for his brother.

Wanker.

Mint, who had perched on his shoulder, shuddered as they moved near the counter, "There's a dark essence everywhere."

As if to drive her words home, all the lights flickered ominously.

"Artie!" Eva waved them over to the counter, "I-oh my goodness you're armed-is that a sword? It looks...awesome but ya know Artie that's not really allowed in here and-Oh wow...who's this chap?"

"I'm Alistair," the Scotsman announced-unapologetically setting his claymore blade down in front of him and resting both hands on the hilt. "His brother."

She blinked-smiled a bit nervously and replied, "I'm Eva. You must be Scotland. Oooh, I can picture _you_ running around the countryside-"

Arthur frowned, "You can ogle and fantasize later."

"I will," she promised.

Alistair cleared his throat, "Where's the brat?"

"Through those doors there by the Play Place equipment. He's with Texas but...I don't know. There was also this...homeless woman, I think? She didn't order anything though-"

"'Course not. She doesn't eat what's on your menu," Alistair scoffed.

"Excuse me?"

Arthur's hackles rose as he thought of that creature alone with his boy, "A hag. A witch, Eva."

Her eyes went wide as saucers. Much as Sealand's had done a while earlier when he'd been made aware of Magic.

"She's working for the UnSeelie Court with a bogeyman and they stole Alf-"

Rather than questioning them or their sanity or being stunned by the very existence of magic or magical creatures-the first thing out of her mouth was:

"Oh my God!? They've got your baby!? The fuck are you standing here talking to me then!?"

"Er-"

She grabbed a spatula, ordered someone named Sam to cover for her, and hopped over the counter between the cash registers (with enough ease to imply she'd done it many times before): "Let's do this!"

The three moved with cautious purpose over to the Play Area. Arthur and Alistair grabbed several fistful of salt packets and shoved them in their pockets. Hag flesh was notoriously sensitive to salt. Salt could also aid in protection and purification spells.

Arthur looked around fascinated that, save a few gruff adults, the restaurant was empty. He checked his watch-just a bit past one. Odd.

When he commented on it, Eva replied in a hushed voice, "I know, right? Now that I think about it, it wasn't long after Alfred appeared that all the lights started behaving erratically. Electrician is s'posed to be coming but-sorry-anyway...not long after that, all the babies started crying and then all the children got spooked and no one except Alfred stayed in the playro-"

"Because they sensed the bodach," Alistair finished. "I just-I can't believe Alfred didn't mention it to you Albion. Children are usually very sensitive. The first time they encounter one...hell the first time _**you**_ sensed one, you slept with me in my bed for a week!"

He was too focused on the task to feel embarrassed by that nostalgic gem.

Alfred did tell him, Arthur realized with mounting dread and guilt. Back at Parliament Alfred had been terrified of "ghosts."

Arthur had first thought it was rats, and then later dismissed it as Dartmoor Pixies but the truth was...the Bodoach was _**already**_ stalking him then…

Fuck.

There might even be portals at his London home! He was going to have to cleanse the hell out of everywhere!

Thoroughly furious, he pushed past to the front of their group and entered the Play Area first.

"Hurry it up!" an elderly voice snapped.

"Don't rush me!" Alfred snarled back. "I don't want indigestion!"

"You've been eating those fries for an hour!"

"Well excuuuuuuse me, for properly chewing each one."

"You lying little-"

"Well, if everyone's outfits back there are hints to your civilization. I don't think you guys have indoor plumbing. And if that's the case, I think you'll really want me to _**not**_ have the runs while I'm visiting. Cuz I'm considerate like that. And you'll just be hurting yourselves. I'm assuming there's a castle. And contrary to what you think, _**this**_ peasant farm boy here _**has**_ been in castles before. And they can really hold a smell."

"That's it!" she stood up and sidled out from the booth. "We've fulfilled our end of the deal. You fulfill yours."

She reached to grab him, but the child dodged and stood up on his seat.

Alistair seized the back of Arthur's shirt-holding him back, "Easy now. Easy. We don't just wanna dispatch her. We want the bodach too. So we gotta figure out where he's hiding."

Alfred ignored restaurant etiquette completely and climbed over into the next booth and then jumped down onto the floor.

"Um no, you haven't!" Alfred argued as he backed up "I was s'posed to have lunch with Tex. As in Tex, would also be eating. When people "do lunch" it involves both parties eating. Is Tex eating?"

"Well, you should've stipulated that."

"It was implied."

"You wanted Texas to come with you, you wanted lunch with a sundae, and you wanted to run up the slide" the hag listed. "So run up the bloody slide."

"You...just...don't get it" Alfred tutted "One does not run up a slide on the order of anyone! It is a free-spirited spontaneous act of juvenile defiance and joy!"

"So then...you don't want to take your treats?" the woman replied in a sickeningly sweet tone before hissing lowly, "Then take a beating instead. I'll wring that pale pretty neck and we'll drag your cold broken body up that slide by your hair...or maybe your fingernails. And the contract will be done. We just have to get you to Court, me duck. Didn't say anything about you needing to be alive when we do it."

Arthur gripped his sword hard and lurched forward. Alistair strained to hold him back. It was hard to decide who to fell first. That bodoach or this hag.

"Wait for it" Alistair hissed. "Wait."

Alfred fumbled for something inside his backpack.

"...so much easier...if you just play...nice…" The bodoach murmured softly.

The Kirkland Brothers glanced around. Where was it?!

"Shut up Grym! I'm mad at you!" Alfred barked.

"Poor little dearie" the woman sneered "Magic all used up. And you don't know either of our true names. And thus...have no power at all."

"Oh I got your true names alright: Jerkass and Crinkleface!"

"I think Alfred's my new favorite," Mint whispered in Arthur's ear. "Sorry Alby."

"Little Fool, with no magic you'll never win-"

"Tch. Ya know, I get that a lot. Dyami, you'll never have a tribe. Wrong! America, you'll never be your own country. Nope! U.S., men weren't made to fly. Wilbur, Orville, and I beg to differ! Alfred, you'll never explore anywhere new and exciting like-oh hmmm...WAIT... I dunno-SPACE! The Final Frontier!? And now I'm going to kick your asses. No magic required. Behold!" Alfred removed the wrapper. "The instrument of your defeat!"

There.

In his little fist: a plastic spoon.

"He's got balls, Arthur," Alistair muttered "Gotta give him that. Small, but definitely there."

The hag threw her head back and cackled, "O! Save me from being felled by the mighty Excalibur!"

Arthur bristled-hand gripping the hilt of his blade. That hag was lucky he couldn't wield _**that**_ sword anymore.

Alfred shook his head solemnly, "The Emergency Spoon knows that you do not respect it. That is your mistake."

The hag grinned-displaying every sharp tooth as she raised her hand to hex.

"Now!" Alistair released his grip on Arthur and pushed him forward.

Arthur drew his sword mid-sprint, raised it high, and-and-and….

Watched in disbelief as the hag slumped backward and deflated into a gooey pile of blood and loose skin.

Because anything thrown with enough force and precision could be lethal.

Even a plastic spoon...

When it pierced you through the eye...

"Special ability: quickdraw," Alfred announced smugly. "And it's not a skill just limited to guns."

* * *

Feed the Author and Read & Review Please! : DDD


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Hogwarts. Phrases: "Stay Calm and Carry On" and "Actions Speak Louder Than Words."

 **Warning:** More Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Darker shades of Alfred. Arthur's called out. Creative license with Roger Sherman and the First Continental Congress. Y2K. More factors regarding why America won the Revolution (which is actually more complex than many give it credit for). British racism in the 1600s in regards to Native Americans. Scenes in which our two most melodramatic characters face off-because the apple just doesn't fall far from the tree. Mushy fluff and Feels...probably.

 **Special Warning:** Anti-PCness in the overview of the Cherry Valley Massacre. Deals with the Iroquois-British (Two Military Powerhouses) Alliance during the American Revolution and the response it prompted from from the Continental Army: Sullivan-Clinton Expedition. Wars are messy. American Patriots captured by British forces during this time were (by order of King George III) classified as Traitors instead of Prisoners-of-War. And were treated HORRIBLY. Repeat. HORRIBLY.

 **AN:** Hey all! I know there was a bit of a wait for this one but... : DDD August 15th was my birthday! Woot woot! Thank you for your wonderful reviews! They keep me excited to write! And without further ado!

 **Chapter 41: Ice In His Heart**

* * *

Canada groaned at the bright light filtering through the blinds. Had he...fallen asleep? His head pounded. Mon Dieu, he had way too much to drink last night. It reminded him of the time Al had freaked out over Y2K. Al was so nervous it made _**him**_ nervous and he ended up knocking back too many in an effort to relax.

He made to shield his eyes with a hand and found he couldn't.

He blinked—Quoi?

He wriggled. Merde! He was restrained?!

Were Jet and Jake pranking him again?

He glanced down at his body.

"Eek!" There were vines all over him and—

"Easy there boyo," Reilley cautioned as he wielded a (somewhat excessively) large pair of garden shears. "Just gotta snip ya out. And I don't wanna take anything extra off the top...or down below. Heh."

"W-what?"

"Don't. Move. And. Alright. Almost. Almost. Yes. There. Done."

Mathieu hastily brushed the vines off himself wondering where in the world those had come from?

Was it some weird prank? Comeuppance for being irresponsible?

He glanced around and his jaw dropped.

All. Over. The. Room. And it had shattered panes in the window!

He made a strangled sound and pointed.

Reilley grimaced, "Aye. We had a bit of a...situation."

Speaking of situations!

Panic sizzled his circuits as he recalled talking with Texas the previous night!

Alfred!

He grabbed Reilley's elbow, "Alfred has a stalker! You have to—"

"Eeeeeyeah...s'bit late for that."

Violet eyes widened to the size of saucers, "Oh God...What happened?"

The bottom of his stomach fell out as his imagination conjured up some sick pervert with a fondness for "pretty" children.

Despite having similar features, Alfred had often been singled out as the "Pretty One." For a long time it simultaneously fascinated and irritated Mathieu that there'd been some intrinsic, vivacious quality about Alfred that put him ahead of Mathieu and even Olivia (who'd always been extremely attractive).

So many childhood visits to town had been spent in sullen resentment as people pinched Alfred's cheeks and slipped him sweets.

Jamaica had regularly employed it. She knew that if she dragged Alfred with her for whatever request she had-she had a better chance of getting it. She'd make sure to give Alfred some of her profits-ensuring future willingness on his part to participate.

Canada honestly contributed their childhood routine as the foundation of their bootlegging dynamic. Since there was no bad blood between them, she found it pretty easy to ignore England's demands during the American Revolution. She smuggled alcohol to the rebellious colonies and Alfred's innocent looking face as he received shipments from the harbor meant their illegal activities went unnoticed.

Still, it had been difficult for a young Mathieu to see the way Arthur often held Alfred's hand more tightly than his own.

Looking back on it now with adult eyes though…

Hell…

Even when Alfred had been a teenage colony, Arthur fretted a lot over his safety; demanding that he stay away from shady areas and sinister characters. Which no doubt exacerbated Alfred's feelings of being "caged," however Alfred was that exploitable blend of pretty and naive…

"Well…" Reilley hesitated a moment more (causing Mathieu's stomach to knot and twist even more) before he launched into the matter.

Mathieu's jaw dropped as the details of Alfred's stalker became more absurd and horrifying with every new sentence.

"And then the bodach reached up through a shadow and stole him," Reilley concluded "O! And a hag got Texas."

Both of them?!

Both of them were taken?!

While Mathieu was napping.

Again the same horrible feeling of failure he'd gotten months ago during the wendigo fiasco, when Alfred had 'died' and Texas went missing, resurfaced.

He staggered his way downstairs—a tricky feat considering the massive amount of vegetation twining across them and saw Wales.

"Rhys?!"

The red-blonde turned with car keys in one hand, and a cordless phone in the other.

"Mes frères!"

"Volunteering for the cavalry?" Rhys asked.

"Yes!"

Rhys gave a nod of approval and tossed the phone to Reilley.

"H-huh? Wha-" Reilley barely caught it.

"Someone has to call Spain," Rhys reasoned. "He needs to be made aware. It's the courteous thing to do."

"What? Why me?" Reilley whined. "He'll be raging after I tell-"

"Do it."

"No."

Rhys paused, frowned, glared hard over his shoulder, and repeated, "Do it."

"Fine."

* * *

Alfred nodded with grim satisfaction at the results of his handiwork.

That's what enemies got for underestimating him.

What could he say? The Cherry Valley massacre taught him a lot. The Iroquois Confederacy, in league with the British, butchered his people; soldiers, civilians, women, children…scalped.

Countless townspeople were left homeless with their livestock stolen or slaughtered.

It was meant to promote panic, despair, and discouragement—to egg him towards surrender for fear of more chaos and destruction.

Osha and Arthur's forces did that to him. They used their combined power and military ruthlessness to try and squash him...and the people under his care...

Walking through that carnage…far too late to be useful...renewed his interest and respect in tomahawks and knives. Following the event, he took care to learn how to throw.

Because all battle skills and strategies were valuable bits of knowledge to archive away.

He learned and absorbed how to fight _**their**_ way…how _**their**_ gears worked. And once he had a good understanding of them, he could mess with the cogs of _**their**_ economic, political, and social machines and employ his own hard hearted tactics…

To show them that such acts wouldn't be taken lying down.

In retaliation to their spontaneous brutality, he responded with cold methodical destruction—using a scorched earth policy on Iroquois settlements (regardless if the structures were seemingly "abandoned"). He'd give them no place to hide and spy and plan more attacks.

Though it would prompt more strikes on his frontier settlements until the end of the Revolutionary War, he succeeded largely in his aim.

He made England and Iroquois's alliance a hindrance and a distraction.

Countless displaced Iroquois flooded British forts for aid—draining both their resources and their patience.

Food was power. Alfred learned that from Osha and the women of her tribe.

Thus, it was with food (the lack of it), that he reduced their strength.

Haudenosaunee, England, his uncles...they were...rather alike. Strong and showy—with light gleaming and glinting off their weapons. You were supposed to fear their numbers and might.

Maybe it was because he had plant powers or because he'd endured failed colonization attempts over and over...he instinctively knew (even as a toddler) how fragile civilizations were.

They depend so heavily on agriculture and nature. It was always one of the first building blocks. And no, it wasn't dazzling the way muskets and metal and other innovations were...and so it was often forgotten—relegated to a task or an offhand order of "Pack supplies."

Like it was too simple to require thought or respect.

It was what pissed him off when people scoffed at farm workers.

Not being able to grow corn, beans, and squash in a safe place was waaay more destructive than firing cannons at a crowd.

And Arthur could only see the big picture and not the details. He had the best of everything! How could he lose!? He had no respect for the patient rebellion of tree roots and pavement…and so he could not fathom America's actions.

Even centuries later, England refused to accept that he'd been outmaneuvered. That America knew that eventually distance and expense would make it necessary for England to cut him loose. As long as he was "troublesome," America's efforts were succeeding.

And then there was the fact that America's low level (non-aggressive) tactics, like establishing economic friendships with England's adversaries over the years. It was a logical, mutually beneficial way for him to gain the upper hand.

Because countries and people were largely ruled by a desire for money. And a free America meant more trade markets for them.

To England it was all bad luck and poor timing on his part; mismanagement on handling people and events. From bits of eavesdropped conversations and drunken ramblings he'd been privy to; it seemed like America, himself, hardly factored in at all!

"Brilliant aim, Alfie!" he heard Eva call from behind him.

Now there was someone who could appreciate him!

He grinned. He'd known from their first meeting she was an action girl!

Dammit, he needed her to switch citizenship!

"Ya like that?" He couldn't help smirking, "Well, I don't wanna brag or anything. But in the hands of an American, just about any object is a bona fide weapon-"

Blue eyes widened in shock.

There.

His dad was standing just a foot away from Crinkleface—sword drawn.

But…

How…?

Was he hallucinating?

The Estate was hours away!

"Alfred," Arthur murmured—looking from the remains of the hag back to him.

There was always something so awkward about sharing a battlefield with his dad. Since the World Wars the Brit always acted like he accepted (however begrudgingly) Alfred's physical military prowess yet whenever he witnessed it…

Alfred's teeth grit together.

Alfred wasn't nice.

He didn't get to where he was now by being nice and meek and harmless. It wasn't all luck and pragmatic opportunity.

He wanted to be proud of his strength, and resilience, and audacity.

And he usually he was...except when Arthur gave him that stunned look. The one that bespoke some private belief that Alfred wasn't allowed to be capable in these sorts of arts.

Arthur would freeze, stare, nod, and then continue onto whatever he'd been doing before. In the moment, it would seem that he'd accepted whatever he witnessed.

And yet, within five minutes, the notion was soundly rejected. And Arthur would feign amnesia and treat Alfred as if nothing had occurred at all. Arthur seemed perpetually posed on the brink of accepting that darker part of him.

And Alfred, in weakness, would never press it. Because he didn't know if being wholly understood was worth losing that misaimed affection.

True to form, the Briton nodded, sheathed his blade, and hurried over.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Not after…

Arthur cupped Alfred's face—no doubt zeroing in on his puffy red rimmed eyes, "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

 _Did you not just see me handle it?_ He thought angrily. _You were a freakin' foot away!_

"Did they?" Arthur insisted more forcefully.

Alfred shook his head. The scratches he'd gotten on his legs from Grym's claws were negligible.

He sighed.

It hurt...to see Arthur standing there all scratched up and worried about _**him**_.

A strong urge to just bury himself in the plastic ballpit and get away from all of this clawed its way through him.

"You're certain?"

Alfred nodded.

The feeling worsened as Arthur picked him up—one hand holding him securely, the other cradling the back of his head.

Like some little kid…

"I am _**so**_ relieved" was murmured near his ear.

"You're not angry?" Alfred replied skeptically.

Having a complete meltdown, trashing his estate, personally attacking him, (from the look of it) sending him on some sort of wild goose chase and...geez...the list just went on...

And that didn't even cover the false accusations and generous amounts of slander he'd heaped on him.

"Oh, I'm furious," Arthur assured him pointblank.

Alfred couldn't quite suppress his flinch at that frankness and didn't know what to make of the soft "Shh" that was crooned to him then.

His eyes widened as Arthur began petting his hair.

"Not telling me about your new 'friend,'" Arthur tutted as he swayed from foot to foot. "Not informing me you were upset, not discussing 1812 with me the moment you felt distress, not asking me about the ticket. You...trusting his word over mine and putting yourself into such danger with the UnSeelies, I-I-" Arthur squeezed him hard, "I'm _**so**_ glad you're alright."

The old man's voice caught on the last word and the chaste kiss he pressed to Alfred's cheek…singed worse than if Alfred had just been cussed out or slapped instead.

It was always him. Wasn't it? He was always the one that caused Arthur the most worry.

He'd overheard Alistair and Reilley say as much as he passed their tent in 1918. His uncles had been sharing a cigarette (since they were down to one) and swapping it, along with complaints, back and forth.

Both were grumbling over how hard it was to plan things out around the American and the stress it was causing England. Since America just wouldn't fall into line in their efforts...the way other former colonies would...

America was a born anomaly whose innate talent was being unpredictable. It made him a challenging enemy and a...difficult-to-work-with ally...and...

...a really rough family member to put up with...

"I can't even imagine what..." Arthur breathed shakily "Don't know what I'd have done if they'd...Never would've forgiven m-"

"I ruined everything."

That was the long and short of it.

He made this happen.

His Go Go Magic Hogwarts Plan was a bust.

Not only did he _**not**_ become an adult again—capable of being everyone's protector once more. He managed to alienate, betray, and endanger people he cared about.

Because he was selfish…

There was a pit of selfishness in him that demanded attention and he'd gone too long without throwing it a bone.

By getting nothing, it had wanted everything: from what he'd lost centuries ago to be returned, to having all of his pain be avenged, to his insatiable appetite for glory and success.

His selfishness led to...this…

And all the vindication he'd been desperate to seek, for an array of unhappy childhood memories and war days, turned to ash and slipped away.

All he did was reveal what a mess he was inside.

Nobody needed to see that.

"No. Nonono...you made a mistake," Arthur insisted "That's all. You should've come to me first. It all just...snowballed. That's all. Truly, that's all. Everyone's alright. You're alright. I'm alright. Everything's fine. There's nothing that a green bin and some shears can't fix-"

"...everything…"

"No, pet. You-"

"Why are you here?" Alfred demanded.

He needed to-to-to be alone! Get his head on straight! Prove to himself that he could-could-could DO THIS!

He could do this. All of this. By himself.

He had to!

Green eyes stared at him like he was the one being crazy!

But it was _**him**_!

Arthur was the one breaking all the rules! He was throwing their dynamic completely out of whack! He was supposed to call and leave a stuffy vague message to show his concern and Alfred would prove he was okay by texting back! Arthur wasn't s'posed to-to swoop in!

"I'm here," Arthur explained. "Because you were in trouble. And I care about you...so very much."

No.

No; Arthur wasn't allowed to care like that. Couldn't care like that. Not after he fucked up so bad. Only heroes could look past that sort of stuff and still jump into the fray.

Because heroes were made of something different! Something righteous and good that could transcend all the horrible circumstances existing betwixt—CRAP!

He realized three seconds too late—that he spoke his thoughts in their entirety...out loud.

Two massive eyebrows furrowed and Arthur's voice went very quiet, "I see. Only heroes then. Heavens above... If love and forgiveness and righteousness and...Yes...by all means, let us be thorough, _**goodness**_... are beyond _**my**_ grasp, what things am I allowed? Shall I venture a guess?" There was something scarily volatile in that deceptively soft tone "Grudge holding? Pettiness? Greed? Vanity? Violence? My, my...what a _**monster**_ I make."

Alfred froze; he hardly dared to breathe. This was s'posed to be the moment where he cracked a joke about gentlemanliness and de-escalated the tension. But his heart was pounding and his head was empty and his mouth didn't know the right lines to give and there was nowhere to hide and he was trapped in the man's arms.

"Come now, my darling," Arthur entreated—resting their foreheads against one another's "What else did your _Founding Fathers_ tell you of me? Make no mistake Little One, I know very well how war propaganda works. And I'm not so naive to believe the terrible things you heard extended to my government, my men, and my ruler only. Go on. Tell me."

"Are you out of yer fuckin' mind, Albion?! This is not the time nor place fer this!" Alistair hit Arthur with an empty food tray. "Did yeh forget why we're here? This-"

"Can wait!" Arthur hissed. He resumed eye contact, "What did they tell you of me!?"

Alfred swallowed nervously.

Terrible things...terrible things indeed. Things that made it hard to think he'd ever been a benevolent figure. That Arthur had always had an ulterior motive in every act of kindness. Example upon example of British cruelty done to American subjects were thrust before him—be it in articles, spy accounts, and corpses. If England really cared, why would he allow them to occur? Why were American patriots treated so inhumanely in British courts and later in British prison camps? Other enemies were treated far more kindly.

Actions spoke louder than words.

So many dead for the sake of his liberty, it'd be shameful...no treasonous...for Alfred to miss him.

The First Continental Congress had exposed his precarious situation to all present.

To them, Arthur was Great Britain—a tangible symbol of a powerful kingdom from across the ocean. A benefactor at best and an oppressor at worst. Nobody denied his power. They denied his humanity. He wasn't human and so they spoke about him with distant, detached, inhuman descriptions.

And to them that's what he was...but to Alfred…

He was someone who sneezed when too much pepper was added to his burnt stew. Who liked strong tea and a crisp newspaper to be waiting for him at the breakfast table. He enjoyed receiving flower bouquets almost as much as Alfred enjoyed creating them. And he was quick with a gift or a treat and he never feared Alfred the way villagers would when he did something "impossible." And he always sailed back. Always. Even when things began to sour and they started bickering with each other.

" _You're all wrong! Father loves me!"_

 _Roger Sherman sighed, "Whatever love you think he carries for you is but a shade._

 _Think hard on this:_ _ **he**_ _put you in such a position that you have nothing to compare it with. It feels real to you, for it is all you know."_

And even if he never quite believed that...he couldn't fully dismiss it either. It lodged somewhere deep and he couldn't pull it free.

After that meeting, everyone seemed intent on tarnishing his parent. They tore him down from that pedestal with terrible truths—transforming him into something dark and villainous that Alfred couldn't defend; from speaking candidly on his worst traits to scolding Alfred for not measuring up.

Couldn't Alfred see he was deluding himself? Arthur was no hero. Arthur was a nation. And ultimately, he did whatever was necessary—violence or charity to secure his ends.

Alfred needed to put America first, the way Arthur did for Great Britain.

And that part was true. America needed to focus on himself and his people. He couldn't afford loyalty to a tyrant.

And on a lesser note it meant: Alfred needed to watch out for Alfred. Nobody else could be fully trusted. It was just safer that way! Not even his people because they wanted him to be powerful at any cost. Only Alfred was to be trusted—because if he was careful and guarded his desires from spiraling out of control, he just might be able to stay a hero and halt his transformation into something else.

"You're not supposed to be here!" Alfred exploded "I'm s'posed ta handle this by myself!"

Trials of fire like this purified character! He needed to battle Grym alone and devise some way to make up for the destruction he'd wreaked at Arthur's Manor and—

"Says who!?" Arthur snapped back. "What blasted authority are you consulting with that insists-"

"My own! My authority! I'm a sovereign, indep—"

"You're a child!"

Alfred glared, aghast that he dared—

"You're a misguided child who's been spoiled with power and neglected with too little attention." Arthur blew out a harsh breath, "Who's throwing yet another tantrum instead of just telling me what's wrong and—"

"Then go away!" Alfred's voice cracked, "And give me some fucking time to do something amazing! And when I have...then-then you can't be angry anymore and you can _**like**_ me again and-"

"I _**love**_ you."

There was no hesitation.

Like it was just an easy fact...like elementary school kids standing up beside their desks and listing America's states and capitals.

It was simple and wonderful and dangerous and damning.

He wriggled hard and made it known he wanted to be put down on his feet.

"No," Arthur held him fast "No. Listen: I love you. That doesn't change. No listen," Arthur demanded sternly—taking Alfred by the chin and forcing him to look at him "Just because I get angry or upset, doesn't mean I love you less."

It was the sort of admission that came so many years late—it shouldn't have meant anything.

And yet...the world still stopped...like it hinged on that.

"Those feelings don't negate each other. Ever. It never means that," Arthur continued as gentle as he'd been harsh moments earlier "All it means is that I'm upset. I love you. Always. Nothing can or will ever change that."

His sight blurred.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Good. Now, that we've cleared that up. Let's focus on the situation at hand. You made a mistake. It happens. I've made plenty. Hell, you've witnessed plenty of mine. Mistakes are allowed as long as we learn from them, right? And now I'd like to take you home, if you'll let me, and we can talk more there. How does that sound?"

Everything was going all wrong. He was floating out into uncharted territories and it was scarier than what he'd been facing down with Grym and the hag.

Arthur wanted them fully reconciled and his dogged determination to achieve it...

Everything was happening so fast...

"...you should send me back…"

That would resolve things. That would put things back in balance. Slow things down.

"And what? Leave you entirely alone for the holiday? To an empty house? Like you feared I had done with that stupid ticket? I would never do that to you."

A comforting hand rubbed his back gently.

He rested his head against Arthur's shoulder and thought of years spent alone. Not just after their wars, but...memories flickered back into place like puzzle pieces discovered from their hiding places under a table...when his Sight gave out and he couldn't see fairies anymore…

Arthur stopped visiting as often during winter...

"Never," Arthur assured.

And Alfred wanted to believe that lie so bad...

But there was ice in his heart.

"...you have before...what's one more?"

* * *

Arthur took in yet another vital breath to steady himself.

The boy was trying to kill him; that was the only explanation: Death via Heartache.

He rested his head against the child's, "What do you mean, Sweet?"

Arthur pointedly ignored Alistair's incredulous glower of contempt.

Eva gave him a 'Take Your Time' look complete with hand wave gesture.

He mouthed a grateful "Thank You."

The parents in the room intrinsically understood that the bodoach could fucking wait.

He and Alfred had endured centuries of estrangement and misunderstanding. They currently stood in a tempest of emotion and accusation and pain. It had finally blown out of all its dark little nooks and crannies and now stood in full view. A great and terrible beast (far more lethal than a bogeyman) that Arthur needed to slay. They needed resolution. They needed it now.

"..."

"Go on, love."

"...you left…"

Yes, that was generally what you did when you lost a war and were no longer welcome.

"...when I couldn't _See_...anymore…you stopped...coming..."

Shame and guilt lanced through him with an awful intensity because that was a painfully good point.

"I'm sorry. I should've been there. If I'd known how much it-"

"You didn't like me as much after…"

"Now, that's just not true" he immediately refuted. "Yes, I stopped spending Yules with you, but I was usually there by New Year's—"

"...I was damaged goods to you after that—"

"Now just a moment! Stop that! I did not think that. I thought you were ill. And I searched high and low for a cure!"

"And you didn't find anything."

"No. And it frustrated me. I felt I failed you. I promised you that I'd make you all better again."

"I don't remember that" that child sniffed.

"Well, I do." Hmph. As long as they were airing dirty laundry, "Why didn't you tell me about Osha?"

The child stiffened, "...Osha?"

"Come on now. We're being candid. You had plenty of opportunities to tell me back then."

"I forgot...same with the magic. In case _you_ forgot, I kinda got shot in the-"

"No. Before. In the 1600s. Why didn't you tell me?"

"..."

"Alfred!?"

The child plucked errant thorns from where they'd broken off and tangled in Arthur's clothes, "...you said I was like you...and that they were all savages. But I was part of her tribe. If I told...you'd know I only looked like you on the outside...and you'd have figured out I was really something else...in between."

"Someone," Arthur corrected. "Of mixed heritage. Yes, you are. And we are not things. Don't refer to yourself in such a fashion."

He readjusted his hold and counted the small blessing that at least Alfred wasn't trying to actively get away from him any more. He was sure to have bruises from their earlier struggle on the morrow.

Alfred's new tactic still had the same goal in mind though. It revolved around trying to break Arthur's resolve and persuade him into letting Alfred go on his own accord.

As if a deluge of hurtful words and unhappy memories could accomplish that. Especially when it was hurting Alfred as much or more just to share them.

Silly goose.

Silly, sad, heartsick, little goose.

He paced the narrow aisle between tables. Restaurants could be so greedy—cramming more tables than made a room comfortable.

The child took several deep breaths, leaned back, and looked him in the eye.

Oho. A trump card was about to be played.

So be it.

"Some of my patriots said...you didn't really love me."

No doubt that was intended to shock him into submission. Ha.

He didn't miss a beat.

"A barefaced lie and you knew it then."

Alfred had continued constructing Kirkland Hall—designing a place where they both could live. It wasn't their first war that had so damaged their bond; though Arthur had done a spectacular job in botching their reconciliation. His own hurt feelings delayed the healing they could have had then. And now he felt really bloody frustrated with himself because if he'd just...damn it..dealt with it then...he wouldn't be dealing with the bloody, festering, magnified aftermath of the second one.

"And I think you know it again, now."

Considering he'd risked life and limb repeatedly these past few months.

"Though," Arthur continued "I'd readily agree that things were definitely strained between us. Heh. What with you thinking I was a coldblooded murderer who would give orders to have my child killed for petty revenge…"

Alfred's gaze slid to focus on his father's collar.

Arthur huffed, "Well, I can more easily understand why you repeatedly turned down my Winter Invitations in the past. Espe-"

The boy's head jerked up and he stared at him with huge eyes, "You invited me before?!"

"..."

It took so much effort to "Stay Calm and Carry On."

He gave a stiff nod.

"Oh…" Alfred breathed in soft wonder.

Arthur nodded again, "You didn't come to the treaty signing or attend any meetings until 1821. And there were so many stretches where you just...went absent…I...worried."

"Oh…" the edges of the child's lips twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn't quite commit. "Mail delivery...really sucked, huh? Must've gotten lost on the way. Trust all the business-y ones to make it to me and not the fun ones."

He forced a nod and a smile for the child's sake. Because there was no way in hell several decades' worth of invitations went missing by unhappy chance.

And he cursed himself for assuming silence was rejection and by 1850 growing too discouraged to send more or make a comment.

He pushed the child's fringe out of his face.

Alfred's mouth twitched again and something terribly wistful ghosted across his features, "Ya know I...wouldn't have had anything to wear anyway. I just...didn't buy fancy stuff then…"

"We'd have found you something suitable," Arthur assured him.

"Oh? And you...you think it would've been...nice?"

There.

There it was; a shining, brilliant, fragile bubble of hope despite so much gloom. Likely, its existence was what prompted Alfred to accept his invitation at all...even in light of all he'd thought he suffered at his father's hands...

Arthur would guard it with all he had.

"Yes. Of course."

Each one had been nice. And each one would've been better, had he been there to join them.

"I missed you, dear heart."

Little fingers twisted themselves into Arthur's shirt and Alfred shifted his weight forward—closer to his father at last. It was painfully hesitant first...and then with building confidence. Soon Alfred was pressed comfortably against him and as gentle as an afternoon breeze.

Arthur nuzzled their noses and repeatedly reminded himself that those mortals were long dead. Long dead and he needed to let his fury pass. Though it was hard to do so when the most reasonable explanation was that there'd been some cruel mutual agreement between both of their governments to keep them separated. And he fully intended to investigate the matter.

The child's face suddenly faltered and Arthur's heart seized.

"Alf-?"

"Fuck!"

The child glanced around at the ground in panic, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck-"

"Langua-"

"I dropped it!" The little one wheezed—face pained. "After I dropped her," he thrust a hand out—indicating the hag's remains, "I dropped it."

"Define IT."

"My backpack!" Alfred told him shrilly. "It's GONE!"

"I see."

"No. You don't understand-inside it-inside-"

Arthur blinked in realization.

His wand.

That was where Alfred had been keeping his wand.

Perfect. The bodoach had it now. Still, his wand was charmed to hex any who dared use it without his permission.

"Alfred, it's alright-"

"Quick! Eva!"

"Yes?" she snapped to attention—spatula at the ready.

"We need all hands on deck! Grab my Coke!"

"...eh?"

Arthur's thoughts precisely.

"Dump it on Tex and wake him up!"

Eva gave a determined nod, a halfhearted "Sorry" to the sleeping Texan and with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary—

SPLASH!

Texas coughed and spluttered as he came to.

"What-where-how…" he plucked at his shirt and sniffed it "Lukewarm Coca-cola? Really, Al? You owe me a shirt, you…you...and...Oh my God, there were goblins and they took me-no-us hostage and you're friend is crazy scary. Seriously. Creepy. I think we need to put your friendship to a vote cuz I am not comfortable with you consortin' with all that. And they tied us up! That's really not okay and...well...least I got my hat still...and…" he noted their surroundings "Uh...when did we get to McDonald's?"

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Sauron's Quote from the Lord of The Rings movie trilogy several lines below. Or Shakespeare. Or Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. Or James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. Or Chuck Norris. Or McDonald's and its food. Or Bentley. Or Hogwarts. Or KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken). Or the Johnny Mathis' song: Winter Wonderland.

 **Warning:** Profanity! Violence! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). "American Institute Fair: "for the encouragement of agriculture, commerce, manufactures, and the arts" which was started in 1829! The Great Exhibition in 1851 in the U.K. (the snobby, fancy version of Science that was likely meant to show up France and America). José Alvarez de Toledo. Marco Polo. Texas sleeping a lot. Canada being shot down without even getting half a chance. Scotland being a boss. Al being troubled as well as troublesome.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! They've been my source of consolation and hope. Sorry to worry you guys, I'm back in school (and every professor and their grandma decided to give oodles of work) so updates may get more sporadic since…-_-...

I've got 18 books this semester…o_o... _18 books_ ….0_o…. . **_18...flippin' Books_.**.. O_-

-_- (' _There Is No Life In The Void_... O_O... _Only_ …') X_X

 **Chapter 42: Make Me Forget**

* * *

Texas adjusted his glasses as he gathered his bearings.

He frowned at Eva, who gave him a bright smile as she tried to discreetly set an empty soda cup on the table behind her.

"Newsflash! I kinda volunteered us for a Magical Fairy Land Adventure," Alfred admitted from his spot in Arthur's arms.

"Yup...yup, that sounds like something you would do," Tex agreed as he stood up and wrung the bottom edge of his shirt.

The lights flickered and the whole room darkened again.

Damn; they just kept getting shoved into freaky situations.

"Sorry, Bro. The plan went wonky. Should've asked you for your two cents. I'll grovel later. Soo to catch you up-uh, yeah, we're battling my creepy _**ex**_ -friend Grym. And he stole my Captain America Marvel Limited Edition backpack-"

"What?! The one _**I**_ bought you!?" That damn thing was expensive! All the nerds had been vying for it! It'd be a pain in the ass to replace.

"Yeah! And I really want it back!" Alfred cried.

"Sonuva-Well, that settles it." Whole thing was pretty straight forward. "We're just gonna have to kick his paranormal ass!"

"Yeah!" Alfred cheered-wiggling to be put down but Arthur held him fast.

"Now, now," Arthur cautioned. "Let's not get excitable. The bodoach will have an unfair advantage against us all given his transportation magic. He'll also have an upper hand against you, young man." He leveled a hard stare at Alfred, "Due to his nature and your recent actions. Bodoachs specifically target naught-"

Texas yoinked his brother out of the Briton's hold-playing deaf to the Englishman's squawks of protest.

He set Alfred down on his feet, gave him a clap on the back of support, and told him: "Lead on!"

Al didn't need more encouragement than that.

He sprinted towards the play structure with Tex and Eva on his heels, "This way! He keeps creeping over here by the tunnels!"

"No! Alfred!" Arthur called desperately as he rushed over, "That's what he wants-"

Good! Texas thought. It meant they could speed this whole thing up by springing the trap! That creepy jackass would learn the hard way that Al and Tex didn't go down easy in a real fight.

Those damn goblins just got the upper hand cuz he'd been exhausted! Up all night with Wales watching stupid surveillance tapes.

He'd had some z's and was ready now!

Damn, but England was fast! He was gonna cut Tex off and mess up their game plan!

He gave a mighty shove to knock the Briton off balance and dove into the plastic tunnel right behind Al.

After two turns Alfred mentioned in a low, serious voice. "The backpack has Arthur's wand in it...we _**have**_ to recover it."

Texas gave Al's foot a meaningful yank-causing his brother to slide back.

"Why did **you** have it?" He demanded.

Al's shoulders slumped, "I...thought he did something...mean and I...wanted to get him back where I thought it would hurt the most."

"...you stole it," Tex growled.

"Grym said if I-"

" _ **You**_ stole it," Tex clarified-dragging Al back a little more.

"Yeah…" Alfred's voice went very quiet, "I stole it...and I got played."

"Like a goddamn fiddle."

"Thanks, Tex. Thanks. _That_ helps a lot," Al grumbled. "That really-"

"Alfie, what have you done?!" squeaked some flying bunny thing that had rushed out in front of them from a side tunnel.

"Mint!" Al cried "Mint, it's not what you think!"

"It sounds exactly like-like-like what it sounds like!" the high pitched voice countered.

"Now that's the kind of cute magic critter I imagined when you went off about friends," Tex nodded, "That one has my approval. Be friends with that one."

"You _**stole**_ it!? How could you?! Arthur trusted you!" Mint shook her head in horror.

"I know!" Alfre answered contritely, "And I'm sorry and I'm trying to fix it!"

"I have to let him know," she breathed.

"Wait! At least lemme try and win it back first!"

But she'd already flitted away.

Al sighed.

Sooo...his little brother probably wasn't gonna be friends with that one after this…

Time for a little consolement.

"Look: I ain't here to hold your hand, but I got yer back, okay?" Tex released his brother's foot.

A more sincere "thank you" was directed at him and they padded onward.

"I'm thinking," Al proposed "That since Grym likes the dark, he'll be chilling in the darkest tunnel—"

"That'll probably a blue or green," Eva piped up-before she gave a sharp shriek that was followed up the sound of metal on plastic.

 ** _SLAP!_**

Tex immediately looked over his shoulder.

Eva's eyes were wide, "I-I saw something and I-well-I slapped at it."

"Good work soldier!" Al called back. "Whack-A-Mole him!"

Eva nodded, "Righto!"

"Alfred!" England's voice rang out. "Alfred, you get out of there. Right now! Right now, young man! You're playing right into his han-"

Alfred continued on-feigning deafness.

"Alfred?!" Arthur called-a multitude of British curses and various thuds escaping him as he struggled to catch up.

Alfred picked up the pace.

Texas followed suit.

Sorry, Art. They had a mission to accomplish!

Damn. It was close quarters in here though. It felt like he was all elbows and knees. And his hat kept thudding against the top-causing it to slide down over his eyes.

José Alvarez de Toledo had nicknamed him 'Saltamontes' because he'd been such an awkward gangly fifteen year old in the early 1800s. The man would've laughed his ass off, seeing him move through here with all the grace and fluidity of a square bowling ball.

"There!" Alfred whispered harshly.

Sure enough, there was the backpack sitting innocently just before a dark green tunnel.

Both brothers shared a look.

Time to spring the trap.

Alfred took a deep breath as he approached it, but just as he locked a hand on it-the backpack moved!

Dragging him with it!

Texas lurched forward and latched onto a foot, "Al!"

Dammit! The tube was too slippery for him to anchor himself and both of them were dragged onward until a sharp corner (that hit Tex full int the gut) forced him to let go.

Thankfully genius hit the minute Alfred disappeared from view:

"Marco!" Texas called.

"Polo!" Al shrieked back.

He padded toward the answer.

"Marco!" He barked.

"Polo!"

And again.

"Marco!"

"POLO-aaah!"

Tex was just in time to watch Al be dragged out of the tunnel altogether across several frayed mats and over to the slide.

Damn. Poor Al was gonna have a hell of a rug burn.

"I swear when I get my hands on you Grym!" Tex spat, "I'm gonna hang you high like a horse thief!"

"Texas! Grym's trying to complete the contract!" Alfred called to him.

The what?

"The contract! Get to the slide! The Big...One! BIG ONE!"

"Roger that!"

He'd just managed to wriggle out of the tube into an awkward sprint-sliding to a stop in front of the large yellow slide when-

He was unapologetically thrown to the ground by Arthur, who used Tex's stunned response to steal his place-nimbly climbing up the slide.

Limey bastard knocked the wind out of him!

"I didn't shove you even half as hard...as that…" he coughed and spluttered as he pulled himself up.

Tex wheezed as he crawled over to the slide. He cautiously peered up to see that Arthur had used his knees to brace himself against the plastic walls with more luck than Tex had managed earlier.

The Briton had a tight grip on Alfred's shirt and was ordering him to "LET. GO. Of the bloody knapsack!"

But naturally…

Al was stubborn.

And unfortunately, since it was Al…

The stakes were high.

But Tex believed in Al's resourcefulness.

Had to.

It had served them well over the centuries.

If he wasn't unnerved by the super scary wall of impenetrable darkness that was waiting at the top of the slide than Texas just had to suck it up and not be scared either.

If only they had a gun!

"You stubborn little fool!" Arthur hissed. "He's trying to drag you into the Ether and you're letting him!?"

"I just can't…" Alfred murmured-both hands refusing to leave the one bright red arm strap they had a hold of.

"Alfred!" Arthur shouted in dismay.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, "I can't! I can't! I can't!"

Without relinquishing his hold, Arthur fished out his knife, crawled farther up, and began sawing the top of the strap.

Alfred realized too late what was happening and barely had time to squeak his dismay as he dropped further down.

If Arthur succeeded in cutting through the bottom of the strap-Al would slide free.

Naturally, the monster was pissed by Arthur's actions and slashed a clawed hand at him.

"Grym, NO!" Al shrieked.

Arthur gave a soft cry as it scratched him. He gasped and curled over slightly.

Even days later, Texas would replay the next several seconds over and over.

Through the centuries America had repeatedly expressed a certain wariness of England that Tex didn't quite understand.

He'd lost track of all the times Al would pace the kitchen reenacting some of their interactions for Tex's benefit and picking his brother's brain as well as his own as he questioned his father's motives and actions…

" _The Great Exhibition..." Alfred murmured yet again as eyed the cracks in traveling trunk. He'd already packed and unpacked and repacked it several times. "Formally invited...they say I'm 'formally invited as a nation to partake'...It's going to be much larger than my annual American Institute Fair…His rulers are interested in...I just...I don't know."_

 _Alfred bit his lip._

" _Formally invited'...he wrote to all three of my branches...and not to-not to me!? What do you think he means by it? He went to one of my fairs, but...was far from impressed…He's just...he's never really been all that interested in agriculture and while I understand it might not seem exciting to most-"_

" _It's simple," Tex had scoffed at the time. "Go. Or..._ _ **Don't**_ _go. Go, cuz you wanna go. Or don't. Cuz ya don't."_

" _...what can he mean by it? It can't simply be for science...unless...do you supposed he's boasting? He is naturally arrogant but...oh...he has another motive, I know it!"_

Tex had to hand it to him; England was an opportunistic guy and damn could he manipulate things into his favor.

Arthur feigned greater injury than what he received; prompting the monster to pause in overconfidence and laugh in triumph; leading Alfred to reach out a hand in concern towards his parent—weakening his steadfast grip on the backpack.

And Arthur wrapped the confrontation up neatly:

That moment of "injury" let him carefully angle his knife...which he then drove hard into the creature's shoulder-and he gave it such a brutal twist that the monster howled in pain.

Arthur then pounced on Alfred-using his adult weight to catch him off-guard.

And it all worked.

Alfred lost his grip and the two of them rode the slide down-against a small trail of inky black monster blood.

No sooner were they out, Arthur snatched Tex by the collar and bodily dragged both Americans with him to the far side of the room.

Alfred was in a state of slack-jawed-shock. His blue eyes were wide with horror, "You...you don't understand…inside...inside it..."

Tex risked a backward glance.

Damn.

That varmit didn't go down easy.

At the bottom of the slide, where a miasma of darkness now collected, the monster reached out a blood splattered hand.

From it dangled the prized backpack. The bastard shook it tauntingly before pulling it back into the darkness.

He then reached out his other arm and pointed one grisly finger at Alfred.

 _You…_

There wasn't much mystery about what he was after.

Alfred swallowed, "Dad...he's right. You...ya gotta trade me. If you're gonna get your wand back, you gotta trade me. Cuz I took it. I took it! It's in the back-"

"Are you daft?! Like it's even a fucking choice!" Arthur hissed-squeezing Alfred tighter. He turned around, planted his feet and swore at the monster with enough venom that it gave Tex flashbacks of his own father in his worst moods.

Spain could be real scary to watch when he was furious with his soldiers.

Arthur's eyes were slitted, his nose was scrunched, his face was red, and his mouth was working overtime: "O piss off, you plug-ugly sodding sack of-"

Alfred stared wide-eyed through the whole exchange; first at his dad, then over to Texas (who stared right back), and finally at the monster.

Who responded by flipping the Briton off and-

That was when Scotland brought his claymore down.

"Heh, wanted the head," Alistair remarked. "But I'll settle for an arm since yeh couldn't flush him out proper."

Abruptly, the lights turned back on as the creature made an immediate exit.

Alistair stretched, cracked his neck, and strolled over to a tube to help Eva crawl out.

He motioned for the rest of them to follow.

"Oi, Texas? Watch your step," Alistair warned off handedly as he picked up a large book from the floor and they passed a gooey pile of...who-knows-what..."Yeh don't wanna slip in Hag."

Texas stared for a long beat.

Yup.

Another weird day for Team U.S.A.

Time for a Big Mac.

* * *

Alfred bit his lip and avoided everyone's eyes as he plucked halfheartedly at his seatbelt.

Several hours following the PlayPlace Battle, Rhys and Mathieu arrived to pick them up in a large Mercedes SUV. Alfred didn't put up any fight when it came to being buckled into the stupid booster seat.

Not after...everything he'd pulled.

Being sorry just...didn't cover it...

He sniffled and raised a sleeve to his nose.

"Don't...do that," Arthur murmured tiredly as he fished out a handkerchief. "Here. Blow. C'mon now. Again. There."

And yeah, it had been super cool to meet another unicorn; Fairflash was all soft and friendly and nuzzled him even though he was a stranger! And the warm rush of air out of his big ol' nostrils as he snuffled Alfred in a mix of affection and hope for treats made him laugh even as his sense of dread and guilt mounted.

Eva lost her job!

All the calamity, and the swearing, and the shouting, and the weapons, and the weird stains all over the place got her fired on the spot.

And while the rest of them got out of dodge, she had to make a statement to the police (who were called on account of their 'breach of the peace'). Thankfully, she wasn't arrested...but she did miss her bus home, and when Arthur texted her, she texted back that she needed a ride and-

"I'm sorry Eva!" Alfred blurted out yet again. "So-so-so sorry I...and it's almost Christmas!"

Arthur immediately began shushing him.

"Your heating bills!" he sniffled. It could get so dark, and gloomy, and cold, and-

"Alfie sweetie, I had no career dreams there. I assure you," she offered from her spot.

"What...about...Emma?"

She didn't answer and looked out the window.

When the car pulled into an apartment complex (pockmarked with graffiti) in the rougher side of the city, he felt even more acutely how much she needed that job.

And he ruined everything! He should've gone to a KFC!

His chest tightened unbearably.

He'd make it up to her! He'd write her a letter of recommendation! He'd get some big wigs back home to write her a ticket to wherever-

Eva unbuckled, leaned over, ruffled his hair, and told him seriously: "I'm glad you're alright, Alfie."

While Arthur escorted her to her "flat," Mathieu tried to give him some bland cliche "I was worried about you" overture, but Alfred stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed (and hiccuped) loudly.

By the time, he removed them "Winter Wonderland" was playing pretty loudly and Mint (who was cuddled up with Alistair) was complaining about _**certain**_ ungrateful persons riding with them.

Rhys didn't comment at all. He just turned the volume up a bit more.

Yup…yup...Al was a troublemaker _and_ a crybaby _and_ a jerk.

And Mattie got to be the "Good One"...as always…

England had seemed so relieved to see him in the passenger seat when the vehicle rolled up to meet them...

It just…

He craned his neck to steal a glance of Tex in the back-backseat-ignoring Alistair's grim stare and Mint's sour expression.

Tex was snoozing again; hat over his face. While it was tempting to wake him and have somebody back on his side, doing so would make him crabby.

Alfred never had the guts to tell him...but Mexico was exactly the same way. He'd learned that the hard way during a meeting in the 1820s. Heaven help whoever interrupted their siesta breaks.

The door to the vehicle opened and an overtired Arthur climbed in.

Now that the excitement of the day had passed and his adrenaline was depleting, his father was yawning constantly. Whenever he did so, he'd mutter "sorry" and block his mouth with the back of his hand.

Arthur tutted at the sight of him and began questing for tissues.

The ride to the manor was uncomfortable with his uncles' silence, Matt's curious gaze, and Texas' snores.

Arthur's flat, tired, somewhat vacant, "There, there's" and steadily more clumsy head pats weren't really comforting at all.

Not when he just wanted to fast forward through all the awkwardness and come out...come out somewhere...where...things made sense again.

As Arthur nodded off and more silence stretched out, Alfred knew he was supposed to take the reins and apologize. To them first. To prepare himself for the apology he'd need to give at the manor. Which in turn would help ease him into making a formal apology to Arthur who…

" _If love and forgiveness and righteousness and...Yes..._

 _by all means, let us be thorough,_ _ **goodness**_ _..._

 _are beyond_ _ **my**_ _grasp, what things am I allowed? Shall I venture a guess?..._

 _Grudge holding? Pettiness? Greed? Vanity? Violence?_

 _My, my...what a_ _ **monster**_ _I make."_

But...dammit!

He wished it could all be as easy as it was with Tex. His brother had accepted his apology right then, right there, in the middle of Grym's attack. It didn't have to be fancy. When he tried to follow up, Tex stopped mid bite with a mouthful of Big Mac: _"Stop. We're good. Keep me in the know next time."_

But everybody wasn't like Tex.

Intent wasn't enough.

They needed words; genuine and remorseful and thorough, if not eloquent. But he wasn't exactly sure where to start and the fact that he'd lost the wand…

He had so many chances to try and start bridge building but inspiration never struck.

He'd felt his uncles' eyes on him when they stopped in at a gas station to fill up. Waiting for him to say something...

But he just...couldn't…

Not then and not later when they paused at a Fish and Chips drive-thru for dinner which revived Arthur.

He just...didn't know...how to fix it all…

Everything had gone wrong.

From his Hogwarts Plan to his Revenge Arc to his Redemption Act.

And Part Three could've worked out magnificently. Like a movie! Like a Shakespearean climax!

It would've been scary and emotional and dramatic-surrendering himself to Grim for the sake of Arthur's wand.

But his honor would've been wholly restored. And Arthur would have had to fully forgive him...or risk being a big-eye-browed jerk.

Then! Using a combination of cleverness and tenacity, Al would've fought his way outta Goblin prison like a boss. Like Chuck Norris!

And everyone would've been so impressed with his heroics, selflessness, and badassery that...that…

...everything...would be...good...again...

Instead of…

His heart which had begun to pound with every mile or...er...kilometer they travelled was in a frenzy by the time they arrived back at the manor.

And Arthur's soft hushing, and hair petting, and various "Talk-to-me-Dearheart's" couldn't untangle the knot of anxiety in his chest.

Even in the dark, the damage was obvious.

The place was _**so**_ trashed.

Broken windows. Splintered doors. Upturned pavement in places. And vines….everywhere.

It was even worse on the inside.

Everyone (humans and nations alike) were busy hacking back plants. Green bins and wheelbarrows and garbage bags and even grocery bags littered the area. All of them were teeming with leaves and canes.

He stood behind Arthur's legs until the man dragged him out from his hiding spot.

"Don't you have something to tell everyone?" the Briton asked him sternly.

"I…um...I'm...sorry…"

Arthur nodded approvingly, gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze that Alfred wasn't sure he deserved, and then stepped into the swirling cyclone of household chaos. Just stepped into it with that swagger of authority, he remembered envying whenever he watched Admiral Kirkland step down onto the dock in Jamestown or Boston or wherever he sailed and everyone entered a hush of awe and respect.

The Englishman accepted a large pair of garden shears and stepped over to an alcove to be brought up to speed by Mr. Gray.

Alfred was largely ignored after that.

The staff made an effort not to glare outright at him but...there wasn't much fondness left in their eyes.

And the other nations just shook their heads and sighed with that _"Trust America to fuck things up"_ expression he'd long grown used to.

Any attempt to assist was met with _"It's half past ten; Sealand and Wy are already in bed. You should be too. You're lucky you weren't hurt, now don't wear your luck out now by-"_

He tried to tag along with his father and uncles as they went through the house and grounds with incense and a multitude of neat, glittery, jangling, jingling charms to "seal any remaining portals," but was brushed off. They said "time was of the essence;" he could learn on some other occasion. He was warned to: _"Stay in the house, in the areas we've cleared."_

And Mint was still furious with him.

On the way back, she'd sat on Alistair's shoulder and unreservedly glowered at him until Arthur snapped at her to knock it off.

Her mood didn't improve much being at the manor.

When he noticed her hovering around-surveying the damage; he made chase and tried his best to explain himself.

Only...no reason was good enough...

" _No," she argued. "That's his_ _ **wand**_ _! You had no right to handle it at all!"_

" _Maybe he can make another?" He'd offered desperately._

 _Her mouth opened and shut like a fish for several seconds before she finally muttered, "You really just don't know_ _ **anything**_ _do you?"_

 _The mix of vitriol and truth stung deeply._

 _No...he really didn't…_

 _He admitted as much to her sadly, "He...said they wanted to be my friends…"_

" _And you believed them?!" She scoffed derisively. "A bunch of UnSeelies!? You took the word of UnSeelies?!"_

" _...yeah…"_

Yeah…

He ended the conversation there-accepting that...yeah...whatever acquaintanceship he'd had with Mint was beyond toasted...even Arthur couldn't have stomached something so charred.

She was Arthur's friend first. He'd had her loyalty for centuries. Alfred understood that. He respected that. He withdrew.

He wished he had Texas to console him (however blunt and spottily sympathetic that might be). Unfortunately, his big bro had headed off to bed early to better "prepare himself" after Reilley mentioned that Antonio had been called and the latter was on his way over.

And Texas had a strong suspicion Mexico would be tagging along.

" _You only think this place is in disarray"_ his brother had insisted. _"Tex plus Mex plus less than eight hours of sleep...hell, no. There won't be enough left of this place to spread on a cracker."_

True, Tex had asked if Al needed him to talk or anything before he turned in, but Al played it tough. He'd waved off his concern and insisted he was fine-just upset on Eva's behalf.

He kinda regretted it now.

He'd had no recourse but to retreat to bed.

It was a long, somber walk of shame as he climbed the staircase and avoided the eyes of staff workers prying vines from in-between the balusters.

It had been a mercy to close the door behind him and shut whatever he could of the bad day out of sight.

The relief didn't last though.

Sitting there in bed, surrounded by things that...didn't belong to him...in a house that wasn't his. He felt alien and strange and unwelcome.

A strong desire to seek Tex out filled him, but his pride wouldn't let him sneak off to his brother's bed-if only for the comfort of having another body in the room.

He'd told Texas, he could handle it. And so he would. He had to.

But every time he turned the lights off-a shiver ran down his spine. He half-wished Grym would pop up, so he could punch him in the face and be angry instead of...of…

There was just something so unsettling about darkness.

Wendigo lurked in darkness and pulled people out of their wigwams and longhouses while they slept.

Back when he'd believed the UnSeelies were friendly, he'd been relieved. Finally! Allies who lived in the shadows and just wanted to play and hang out and help him! He didn't need to be afraid anymore…

Tch…

He was such an idiot.

May as well pull a Hawthorne and sew an "I" for Idiocy and pin it on himself.

When no amount of shutting his eyes resulted in rest, he padded back downstairs-vainly hopeful that everyone would be asleep and a book from the library might distract him at least a little bit from the all consuming guilt eating at him.

Maybe _Finnegan's Wake_ could cure him with a dose of pure confusion at its weird absence of linear plot.

He was just feet away from the library door when it opened, he immediately hid behind a large oriental vase that had miraculously survived the plant invasion.

He gave a hesitant peek when he heard Alistair say, "Alright, that should do the trick."

"It better," Arthur muttered darkly, "I don't want that thing anywhere near my little ones again."

Alfred paused-the protective paternal tone he heard giving a flare of hope that maybe...just maybe...somehow Arthur could just intrinsically understand what Alfred couldn't quite articulate.

After all, despite everything…

" _Are you daft?! Like it's even a fucking choice!"_

Which made his heart flutter even as it sank...

"O calm yerself," Alistair muttered "Yer wee bairn would've figured something out. Didn't yeh see how he dropped that hag? Ack, I was proud of him then-and with a spoon! Ha!"

"I just can't believe he lost it," Reilley said with the air of one who'd already announced that sentiment several times over.

"For the moment," Arthur shrugged.

"That's going to make tomorrow more difficult for you," Rhys cautioned.

Alfred bit his lip. Right...Yule was tomorrow. Great...yet another reason to feel lousy.

"I'll manage," Arthur replied shortly. "Let's break for the night now. I want to check on Wy and Peter."

More footsteps resounded and finally quiet resumed. At least until-

"It's rude to drop eaves," Rhys pointed out bluntly-nearly causing Alfred to bump the vase in fright. "You're fortunate Arthur was too exhausted to note how close you are."

"I...I.." he came out from behind the vase and reluctantly faced down a harsh set of hazel eyes. "I...can't sleep. I...my backpack."

"Yes; I've been made aware of the situation," The Welshman nodded.

Alfred must've been a glutton for shame. It was the only explanation. His time in Puritan Society had brainwashed him into thinking that disdain was something that built character. And if you felt bad, it was important for other people to make you feel worse.

And he confessed more than he wanted to:

"Yeah...there's-there's _**that**_ ," he admitted and the guilt made things like breathing and standing and walking Olympic events but "and there's...also...cuz-cuz I know it sounds selfish to bring it up but-"

No.

Al.

Stop!

But his mouth just kept moving!

"But-but-but Hop was in there too!"

Goodbye last scraps of dignity.

"And I got all used to falling asleep with-and I know I'll get over it-I know I will-I did before-but it's just-I-it's hard. And I know he's just a stupid toy but having him back! He didn't throw him away! And you don't know what he _**means**_ to me and-having him I-"

Rhys's eyes stared intensely at him.

"When I turn the lights off I-and it's so dark-and I'm so alone-I just-"

And as swiftly and urgently as the need to come clean had come down upon him, it left. And the need to escape took it's place. He spun on his heel and fled back to his bedroom.

Even though it meant shivering alone in the dark for the next two hours-hugging a pillow for dear life.

He froze as he heard the door to Arthur's room open and the man slowly shuffled in. He was audibly limping and Alfred felt terrible for kicking him on his hurt ankle that morning.

The light in the next room went on.

There was a movement of dresser drawers being opened and closed. The sound of shoes being kicked off and clothes being changed.

There was a groan of exhaustion, the sound of a body hitting a mattress, a long suffering sigh, and then the light was turned off.

Arthur didn't come to check on him.

A wave of cold swept through him and he slowly released the pillow.

He rolled over onto his back, swallowed a few times, and tried to let everything go.

After all, Arthur had already done so much for him today.

Now, he was just being selfish; wanting to be independent, wanting to be coddled like Wy and Peter, wanting, wanting, wanting. He just wanted it all, didn't he?

Or more likely, he didn't know what he wanted at all.

It was moments like these where he wished he could just divorce himself from feeling altogether.

If his heart could just go numb the way his toes did when he walked barefoot through snowy fields...maybe he could just forget it all...

He only succeeded in slipping into a fitful shadowy sleep; full of dark basements, and stern warnings, and reckless wishes.

" _Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" The old man asked from the darkness._

 _He almost sounded afraid, "What yer askin' me for?"_

 _Alfred knew exactly what he was asking._

 _And he knew what he desperately needed:_

 _Courage._

 _To follow through._

 _To do what must be done._

 _For his nation._

 _For his people._

 _For himself._

 _And for them too._

 _He'd pay the hideous price and finally be free._

 _They all would._

" _My soul enters a Winter from which I will not escape._

 _This, I accept. For them all, I submit. For myself, I only ask…_

 _that my Heart forgets Spring._

 _Make me forget."_

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD

I need the love!


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Legend of Zelda. Or the Welsh proverb: Dyfal donc a dyr y garreg: Tapping persistently breaks the stone. Or Nesquik strawberry milk. Or Mr. Muscle ( the cleaning spray).

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Wales and sheep. Lol. Fun fact I tripped across: having one Black sheep in the flock was actually an omen of good luck until the 19th Century! Cultural differences regarding eye contact. Caladrius: In Roman Mythology, it was a pure white bird that lived in kings' houses and could draw illness out of people-healing them. The bird could purify the illness (hence taking no injury to itself) and then fly off. Presumably, to go do more good. Nectar: In Greek Mythology it was a Beverage of the Gods that could grant immortality to a human. Meanwhile, I have discovered a travesty: Windex isn't sold in the U.K. DDDDD:

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! They're my highlight. Really. So please review if you can and show me some love. School's eating my life, but I managed to find the inspiration to write this chap out and start the week out right. And now I've got to finish my homework :P Happy reading!

 **Chapter 43: Nurse Scotland**

* * *

Arthur awoke with an unstifled oath: "Shit!"

He threw the coverlet off and sped across the room.

Damnation!

He'd meant to check on Alfred before going to bed!

He'd gotten caught up in an old routine; locking up all the doors, peeking in on Peter and Wy to make sure their rooms weren't too cold and that they'd latched their windows, and triple-checking that Hong Kong wasn't haunting the library. That boy would stay up all night there if Arthur didn't clear the space out at midnight.

Damn it.

He hurried over to the Alfred's bed and nearly suffered heart failure at finding it empty.

He did his best to calm his instinctive panic and follow where their bond led him.

Though it took a great deal of concentration; at first, he assumed it was the result of being bone tired but…

It gradually dawned on him that Alfred was doing his best to block him.

Hurt by the prospect and hopeful that it was unintentional-he quietly entered the room and approached the rocking chair where Alfred was huddled up with a book and a small pen-sized flashlight.

If that was a common habit...he was going to strain his eyes until he really _did_ need glasses.

At intervals the child's breathing would go wavery and he'd rub his nose frantically on his sleeve.

Arthur picked up a tissue box and gingerly walked over, "You're going to rub that poor nose raw if you keep at it that way."

The child stared-eyes obviously glassy even in the dim light.

Arthur rattled the tissue box.

Alfred swallowed audibly as he took a tissue and put it to use.

"Much softer, I imagine?" Arthur asked.

"..."

"You're still worried about Eva, hm?"

There was a strangled sound. Arthur tossed the tissue box onto the table and took the child into his arms.

"Of course you are," he murmured-pacing a bit before sitting them both into the chair. "Of course you are," he repeated-rocking the chair soothingly "You have a big heart. She'll be alright, you'll see. Whatever she chooses."

Alfred didn't answer and just itched at his shin.

Arthur rested his chin on the child's head, "I'm so sorry, pet. You've been frantic all night, haven't you? I meant to check in on you after I'd made my rounds but," he sighed ruefully "The day caught up to me and I just…"

The child stilled for a moment and then scratched at his legs again in contemplation.

Arthur sighed and nuzzled his nose into the boy's soft hair,"I'm sorry, Sweet."

"..you sounded tired when you came in...you moved slow.."

Arthur pulled back and frowned, "You were awake? Why didn't you seek me out?"

"..."

Alfred refused to answer and just gave his legs a more vigorous scratch.

He snatched at Alfred's hands and a sense of wrongness flooded him.

Wet sticky hands…

And he knew at once it wasn't from tears and snot.

No…

Now that he was alert, he couldn't ignore the coppery scent in the air...

* * *

 _ **BAMBAMBAM!**_

Scotland grumbled irritably as he flicked the light on and answered his bedroom door.

He no sooner opened it a centimeter then Arthur burst in.

"I need that special ointment of yours!"

Alistair frowned.

It was a blend of his own making that used aloe, arrowroot, camellias, and willow bark infused with a ground up caladrius feather.

Arthur and Reilley were constantly trying to pry the recipe from him; but he refused. One; because Arthur would probably botch it and hurt himself and Rhys would blame him. Two; Reilley was an obnoxious ginger.

"What? Does my door read: _Nurse Scotland_?"

"Alistair?! Please, he was scratched by the bodoach and he's bleeding and-"

"Wha?"

Arthur bodily dragged him over to the hallway loo where, true enough, the child sitting on the counter (with his denims rolled up) had deep scratches on his legs.

"Alright," he conceded as he inspected the wounds.

It probably stung quite a bit (since bodach weren't known for being terribly hygienic) but the boy didn't make a peep. He wasn't at all the crybaby Albion had been, he thought approvingly. (Albion used to sob when he'd fall and skin his palms or get a tender blood blister between his toes.)

Alistair picked his nephew up and carried him back to his room.

He plopped the child down on the middle of the bed.

"...Itches," Alfred mumbled.

"Bet it does."

There was blood pooled under the child's fingernails from not being able to help himself.

"Albion?"

"Yes!" was the overly intense, attentive response.

Blimey; Alistair lifted an eyebrow-you'd think Alfred was prepped for surgery-

He sobered immediately as he thought of the Wendigo-Fiasco.

He shifted uncomfortably, "Oi; I got a bowl and pitcher on the dresser." Some morning rituals were just hard to break and splashing his face with cold water woke him up more fully than just stepping into a warm shower. "Go on and fill-"

Arthur immediately set himself to task.

"And grab those rag-"

Arthur set them down.

"And bring the-"

He blinked as the water bowl was set gently beside him.

His eyebrow twitched; if Arthur had been half as obedient centuries ago as he was being now…They wouldn't have clashed so damn much when he'd been raising him!

Alistair dipped a rag and gently cleaned the gouges.

Alfred huffed and twitched, "Itches."

"I know," Alistair replied.

Arthur wet the second rag and focused on cleaning Alfred's hands.

Alistair hesitantly pulled the vial of his healing blend from where he kept it...under the mattress.

But Arthur wasn't even paying attention.

"I asked you, if you'd been hurt," Arthur scolded.

"...it's not a big d-"

"Bleeding is a very big deal!"

Nope.

Not a whit concerned or interested in where the vial was stored.

And now Alistair felt embarrassed to be hoarding it at all.

He should've felt irritated by those two. Between Alfred trying to demolish the house, getting himself briefly kidnapped for a second time, and now being so independent as to make himself a nuisance...which only caused Arthur to be a bigger nuisance than usual…

Alistair should've been angry.

He'd done his part, hadn't he?

Been the backup Arthur had needed hours ago. Delivered a clear lasting message to that bodach and any other fae that dared approach his nephew with sinister intentions.

Alba would fight for him.

He had a menacing reputation. The threat of his claymore should guarantee the laddie's safety from here on out.

He'd worked for that fear and respect.

Back when Arthur was small and would befriend any goddamn sprite that traipsed by…

He'd _**had**_ to make himself a brutal force. One that monstrous, malicious UnSeelies wouldn't want to be hunted down by.

Unfortunately, this resulted in many Seelies of the realm assuming he was their hero and they felt welcome to harass him at all hours as they had earlier in the month.

Stupid Albion…

A lot of his troubles stemmed directly from him.

Alistair should've been able to convince himself that he'd done enough.

But there'd been too much fear in Arthur's face to be properly vexed at him for interrupting his sleep at an ungodly hour.

Alfred blew out a frustrated breath, "Uncle Al, tell him he's overreacting. It's-"

"He's overreacting."

A glint of triumph flared in Alfred's blue eyes.

"Because you're underreacting."

Alfred dared to give him a betrayed look.

Alistair snorted, "Spare me the wounded gazelle bit and meet him in the goddamn middle for my sake. It's three in the fucking morning."

Alfred sighed as he faced his dad, "...he scratched me when he pulled me...down...in the music room…"

Arthur "hmmed" and "oh-ed" sympathetically as he reclined beside the boy.

"He held really tight when we went through that...that...dark...cold place…"

"The Ether can be very frightening," Arthur reached out a hand to rub the child's back "It's a veil that helps connect and separate our world from theirs-"

Thankfully, Arthur's monologue kept Alfred distracted as Alistair tended him.

Though there was a sigh of utter relief from the child when the blend began working its magic and his itching ceased.

It was hard to say who looked at him more gratefully after that...or whose gratitude made him feel more uncomfortable.

He bandaged the legs up and told them to wait a bit.

As far as he knew bodach claws weren't poisonous, but he didn't want to take a chance.

Unfortunately, now that the crisis was averted. Arthur had the gall to relax more fully and fall asleep on his elder brother's bed.

"Oh no yeh don't," Alistair growled-walking around the bed to where Arthur was curling up. "Yeh better wake up now or I'm shovin' you off."

"His ankle!" Alfred argued-jumping down and putting small hands against his uncle's legs like he believed they could hold him back. "You can't. You just...can't...his ankle…"

He blinked. Riiiight. He'd forgotten about that. Arthur had been gettin' around easily enough that it just...slipped his mind that his brother was injured.

"Fine. But I ain't carryin' him like a blushin' bride back to his room, neither."

He was tempted to set him on the floor and be done with him for the night. He'd allot him one pillow...for Alfred's bleeding-heart-sensibilities.

Alfred frowned-sizing Arthur up, gauging the width of the door, and staring at his hands for a moment.

"And you ain't either, halfpint," Alistair declared-picking the child up under the armpits and tossing him onto the bed.

Alfred sighed in bitter resignation.

And it struck Alistair...if the child had been Wy or Sealand-he'd have giggled.

Alfred didn't.

It bothered the Scotsman.

The same way his wide-eyed stare had unnerved him back when Alistair had lost his temper at Arthur's house weeks ago. Sleep deprivation had made him a total arse. He probably ought to apologize for that. He wasn't exactly sure how though.

Since it would likely involve mentioning how much he hated the bloody season. And knowing what a curious little blighter his nephew was-he'd be bound to ask why.

Alistair pulled a soft cotton t-shirt from his dresser, balled it up, and threw it at the boy's face.

"Here. Ya can't sleep in your day clothes."

Alfred spluttered, glared, and then smiled "Legend of Zelda! I didn't know you played!?"

He shrugged, the boy was so enamored of the game. It didn't seem right to tell him that he and Eire had a bit of a competition where they drank each time Link was told to do something or someone spotted a cucco and then they staggered their way through and tried to complete a level. They'd take turns after someone died out or gave up.

He watched the boy carefully maneuver the blanket out from under Arthur and tuck him in.

It could've been comical but his expression was too serious.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned to Alistair who frowned at him.

"You too."

At his blank stare, Alistair lifted the blanket, "Well, get under. I ain't got all the time in the world. I need sleep and you're keeping me from it the longer you lollygag."

Alfred scrambled to get underneath.

Alistair climbed in next but hesitated on turning out the light.

"Hey laddie?"

"Yeah?" the boy turned to face him.

"..." he struggled to string together the right words. "Go...go easy on him."

Alfred gave him a perplexed look.

"He cannae take much more."

"Huh?"

Daft little numpty-headed-

" _Arthur_ , boy."

"Oh...yeah...I…" the boy blew out a breath "I dunno why he came all the way out there. Or why he dragged you all the way-"

"Nobody _**drags**_ me anywhere."

Alfred's cheeks tinted but he ignored the significance of that statement, "I...I'd have...I'd have figured something out, ya know. And then...with his wand...and he just... _gave it up_...I mean...he could've...but he didn't...No...he-he-he _**wouldn't**_. I...I dunno why he'd do that..."

Alistair turned the light off.

"...yeah, yeh do."

"..."

He reached over and flicked the boy on the forehead, "You know why..."

* * *

Rhys yawned; he'd woken early to complete his project.

With early light filtering in, it almost seemed like a tranquil morning. The sort he was told that normal people often experienced on holiday. Whenever people in his National Assembly got to talking around the water cooler, their trips sounded so...different…than his...

He'd yet to have one for himself; there always seemed to be something to worry over. He took a deep breath as he studied his calendar.

He eyed himself in the mirror and straightened his wool sweater. He then gathered up his work and set it in a small wicker basket that he carried down as he descended for breakfast.

He passed a groggy Alistair who was staring at the staircase like an obstacle of heroic ballads.

Poor Alba; he just wasn't a morning person. The date didn't help.

"Brawd bach...go back to bed. I'll bring you something."

Alistair nodded and turned back without a fuss.

Hazel eyes watched him in concern.

There was always a fuss. Even when he did as asked. There would _still_ be a fuss leading up to it.

He grappled with himself on whether to follow. He shook his head. No; he needed to adhere to his morning plan: Alfred, breakfast, Alistair. In fact, he'd breakfast _with_ Alistair.

And then he'd continue with what Eire had coined "deforesting" their manor. It wasn't technically correct; since Alfred hadn't commanded trees to infiltrate...(and praise the heavens for that) but it was an amusing way to phrase their vine-clearing mission.

At the bottom of the stairs he spotted his Irish brother wrestling with a stubborn vine that had twined itself through a vent.

"Damn thing better not have gone down it," Reilly growled to himself; a stream of vulgar Irish Gaelic spewed from him.

Definitely in a mood.

He swept past him and was about to check the kitchen when there was a sound of outrage from the Drawing Room.

He came in time to see Alfred pause in the middle of the room-having left a clear trail of dirt from his obvious sojourn outside.

In the child's hand was a bouquet.

"Joy. More flora," Eire muttered-having followed the noise.

Rhys frowned deeply at the unkind remark and his brother hastily shuffled away.

"Look at all that mud!" Barbados gestured with a roll of household towels. Her other hand clenched around the neck of a Mr. Muscle bottle.

Jamaica, who was nearby with a mop, winced at the sight of yet more work.

Alfred colored, but stubbornly remained where he was.

Olivia padded over aggressively, "All of us are in here working, and you just went tramping about for a bunch of garden weeds!? Look at that. Who'd want that?"

"...not for you…" the boy growled.

If one merely identified the contents of that bouquet...it became very obvious who they were for.

Winter aconites, asclepias, holly, teasels, and large clusters of blossoms from common climbing roses...

They were arranged quite artfully.

But as Olivia pointed out...

To those bred and raised and educated in higher social circles where only the best, most cultivated blossoms were beautiful...they were undeniably weeds.

Yes.

But good luck getting a Gardener Type to accept so narrow a view.

Now that he thought on it, he remembered a very young Alfred arguing with him in a garden (he couldn't remember which castle) over the topic.

 _Alfred's cheeks puffed up sullenly,"Yeh think that anything what gwows wiffout your say so, be a weed!"_

And there was a good deal of truth in that.

Duw damn ei; He should've guessed the child's nature then.

Because while Olivia was right that the plants held in his small dirty fingers weren't anything prized by society at large.

Alfred wasn't wrong either.

In the right eyes, they were a treasure trove of native wildflowers. And the fact that Alfred _knew that_ bespoke an almost fatal sentimentality.

He felt his own heart twist a bit painfully. He'd gotten rather used to Alfred being aloof-rebuffing a majority of Arthur's attempts at establishing a more open, affectionate relationship. Seeing Arthur succeed through being...steadfast in his love and persistent in holding his arms wide open was...rather...rewarding.

 _Dyfal donc a dyr y garreg._

Naturally, he was still very concerned with the two of them. They needed more outside support to properly balance them out and Arthur needed to realize the difference between being attentive and being controlling…

But the greatest hurdle was...being undertaken...

Alfred was more willing to receive love-clumsy and heavy handed and smothering as it may be. And the child had come to the conclusion himself.

Rhys had expected to have a deluge of philosophical discussions-to gradually nudge Alfred into the right direction; Arthur was an imbecile but he did love the boy.

The outburst yesterday (destructive as it was) cleared up quite a bit. Both of them were finally speaking about the troubles between them.

Alfred was still vulnerable though. Perhaps even more so now that the heart underneath was finally risking itself to come to the surface.

The tremble in Alfred's hands was slight but there.

Rhys moved forward, ready to do what he could to diffuse the situation when-

"What a lovely winter bouquet," the intended recipient replied warmly.

Alfred flushed as Arthur swept into the room and knelt down before him. He accepted the gift with a grand flourish that he'd usually reserved for his court favorites.

Alfred went even redder and it struck Rhys; that if Arthur had acted _that way_ with the child for a long time and then suddenly stopped…

Alfred's hands twisted themselves into his sleeves to better camouflage the tremble.

Arthur picked the boy up with a mild rebuke to take more care in removing his shoes when they were soiled (but it was clear from the lack of bite in his voice that the words were more for the observers' sakes than for Alfred's.)

Rhys trailed after them-fully aware that his own presence would pale greatly...he just didn't possess great…showmanship…when it came to matters of this...sort…

Still, he was determined to follow through.

He wanted Alfred to be forthright in their interactions. Therefore, he needed to prove that he in turn legitimately listened to his concerns and would do what he could to address them.

He watched Alfred rest his head on Arthur's shoulder with a shy smile.

When Arthur deposited him at the kitchen table to hunt for a suitable vase, Rhys moved in.

He tried not to take it too personally when the smile slid right off the boy's face and he went very still and stiff on the chair.

Rhys cleared his throat, "...Er...about yesterday…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I ruined everything. Everybody hates me," Alfred responded sullenly as he kicked his legs.

Rhys stared taken aback by the frank admission and a bit baffled as to how he'd come to that idea. The minute he got home the child had flitted about restlessly-never allowing anyone to inquire about him at all. Australia and Canada exhausted themselves looking around for him and Mr. Gray was terribly paranoid that he'd trap Alfred outside.

" _He's so small. And he can be so quiet. He can! He can slip right by and-and-and he wanders about. You'd be amazed the places where I've spotted him! In the towers. In the kitchen. In the gardens. In the shed. I can't lock anything, sir. I can't. Not until I know he's indoors. He'd freeze, sir. If he was locked out there…" he stared worriedly out of the window. "He's so small…and even for a 'warm' winter...it'll be much too cold."_

From what he'd encountered the general consensus was relief that he was unharmed. Perhaps, the child was sensing some exasperation on their part (Alfred, like his father, could be a bit tiring with his melodramatic tendencies and his inability to act sensibly in emotionally charged situations).

Goodness; They hadn't needed an official curfew since 1880. Everyone generally knew to be inside by nine unless there was some manner of special event. He'd need to speak with his brothers on it.

But...where on Earth did Alfred get the idea that everyone was fundamentally against him?!

Yes; there was likely some jealousy and envy here and there. No family was spared that but…

Was he basing his assumptions over what transpired in the Drawing Room just now…?

Anger over bringing in dirt did not equate into vicious hate!

"Everyone does NOT hate you," he declared.

"...Like you."

He frowned heavily, " _ **I**_ do _**NOT**_ hate you."

"...never smile at me...You think I'm trouble."

"You _are_ troublesome," he acknowledged. "If only because you're incredibly stubborn and somewhat delusional. And I'm...just...not a smiley person..."

He caught himself before he could mutter that only inane people smiled all the time.

A powerful frown was sent his way with all the unhappiness a seven year old face could give.

Rhys sighed, "Have you been telling yourself this all morning? ' _Oh no, everyone hates me? How will I ever endure?'_ "

The woeful look the child sent him confirmed it.

"What a melodramatic inner dialogue. While I'm certain Shakespeare would approve, I, however, will have to put my foot down."

"Whaddyou care, anyway? I made a mess of everything just like you guys thought I would! Happy?"

"So you have."

The child flinched.

"And yet, the world didn't end, did it?"

The boy stared at his feet.

"I think…" Rhys started, took a deep breath, and then forged on "I should think that...you will be...pleased to know that I DO care. I…" he pulled his project out of the basket. "I care quite a bit."

It had taken several hours of gathering supplies and then several more of continuous work. But he felt satisfied with the result.

He carefully set the handsewn (cloth and wool) sheep toy on the table.

Alfred blinked, "It's...a black sheep."

"Yes. It's a Black Welsh Mountain Sheep. I made one just like it for your father when he was small."

"..."

"The fleece is very soft," Rhys explained as he fondly stroked the wool. "And wool is naturally resistant to soiling. The dark hue here means it'll stand up particularly well."

He proudly spoke of its elasticity-which meant less breakage. Cotton was downright fragile in comparison!

(Personally, he was amazed that the rabbit doll had lasted so long. Truth be told it was wearing out quite swiftly. It's age combined with the rough and tumble play Alfred was subjecting it to again...meant its days were numbered even before its capture. He kept that to himself though. No need to upset the child unnecessarily. He'd see what he could do to convince Arthur to make another. In the meantime though, Rhys felt he'd risen to the challenge admirably. For the time being, Alfred now had a suitable (though likely temporary) substitute.)

"It's also somewhat flame resistant. I do not know if that will be a necessary attribute but...knowing _**you**_ …"

Alfred giggled appreciatively and Rhys felt a bit more satisfaction than he ought to have.

"Did you have lots of sheep?" Alfred asked-accepting the gift and curling his fingers experimentally in the toy's woolly fleece. "You know a lot about this stuff."

Yes; he knew an exorbitant amount on the subject. So much so that his younger brothers thought it good sport to speculate how he spent his time with them. Rhys's eyebrow twitched.

"Yes; I spent many years as a shepherd."

It was so calm and tranquil out there-tending a flock. The weather could be tiresome, but far less so than dealing with people day in and day out in the village.

Feeling a surge of confidence at the topic, Alfred volunteered, "I had goats and chickens and cows and ducks and pigs and-"

"Goodness, what a menagerie."

"Oh...no...I...didn't have them all at the same time. Not unless I was doing really well and the army didn't need me-or if they did need me, there was someone I could trust to leave in charge. But...I dunno...my crops never did as well when I wasn't there. And they'd always end up selling all my livestock to make ends meet."

Rhys frowned. He suspected that the boy probably didn't live in a naturally fertile spot. Only his magic presence kept it yielding food.

Alfred pouted, "Except for Arthur."

Rhys stared at him in confusion, not recalling when Arthur would've helped him. Arthur had never been terribly skilled at homestead farming; partly why he'd endeavored so thoroughly to entrench himself in matters of politics.

Alistair wasn't terribly good either; he was probably the best hunter out of them but he'd been glad to throw himself into battle campaigns to avoid the lackluster life of agriculture.

Meanwhile, Reilley was a masterful mooch. He'd learned that being good, entertaining, helpful company could keep him fed and cared for. He was probably the best ear out of them all. He could sit through the longest sob story tales without snorting the way the rest of them would.

"Oh...oh! Sorry. I don't mean _Arthur_ Arthur. I mean my goat: Arthur. Meanest goat on the East Coast. He practically became a legend in his own right. I could always count on him to be waiting at home for me. Nobody ever tried to buy him. He'd bite and kick and stamp and spit. And sometimes he'd break into the house just cuz he felt like it."

He tried.

In his defense, he really did try.

Alas, he couldn't hold back the snigger.

"May...may I…" he wheezed "inquire as to how he got his name?"

"You may ask…" Alfred replied demurely-cheeks pinking.

Rhys's lips twitched, "Well?"

Alfred's childish grin widened and then he gushed, "He had these huge eyebrows. He could eat anything. He was always grumpy and when he didn't get his way he'd scream!"

Alfred felt the need to demonstrate and Rhys descended into another fit of laughter.

* * *

Arthur reentered the kitchen in high spirits-pleased that he'd found a cottage style vase that matched the rustic vibrancy of the bouquet. He'd carefully positioned it on his dresser so he'd be better able to admire it before sleep that night.

He was chuffed to bits that Alfred had made such a grand gesture.

Yes; the previous day was a whirlwind of stress and fear and he was still concerned with the scratches on Alfred's legs...but…

If all of that had been necessary for them to have this now...

Despite his best attempts to reign in his high hopes...to warn himself that he needed to go slowly-give Alfred time and space to acclimate…

He thought of the flowers again…

That shy expression...

The earnest affection in it all!

Warmth spread giddily through him and already he was envisioning future holidays where he could include the child.

Beach trips with Jamaica and Barbados, Chinese New Year's with Hong Kong, exciting (though thoroughly planned and supervised) adventures with Australia and New Zealand…

His imagination knew no limits!

He could already see how beneficial it would be for the child; culturally educational and a catalyst for personal growth!

America had connections with them as a nation via economic trade. But it was Alfred who was in dire need of more. He needed friendship! And who better to bond with than the other children? Arthur could proudly promote them all without the slightest sense of exaggeration or pretense.

They were good, kind, accomplished individuals who could help encourage Alfred out of his habitual tendency toward isolating himself.

All the while Arthur would continue repairing their parent-child bond like a weaver restoring a great, beloved tapestry.

He'd made a leap forward. He could sense it. He could see it.

Alfred's eyes seemed brighter. His smiles for him were wider.

No Sweet; he didn't order that fatal shot. No Sweet; a wand was nowhere near as precious. No Sweet; no wound was insignificant in a father's eyes.

This morning he'd revisited that last one-concerned that Alfred would hide such things.

Once he was over his shock that Alistair had let them spend the night, he spoke quietly to the child dissuading him from tickling Alistair's ear with a corner of the covers.

The way Alfred chatted, you'd think only gory wounds merited attention. When he'd sarcastically said as much the child mistook him for being candid-nodding that usually he just went in for stuff he couldn't handle; gut shots or near amputations or bleeding "that just keeps soaking through."

Which made Arthur's face go white with fear as he agonized over the circumstances which would've led into the aforementioned 'reasons' to go to hospital. As well as all the misadventures Alfred had endured without medical aid! Or any aid from the sound of it.

Alfred compounded Arthur's worry when he added carelessly: _"I can usually walk it off."_

It led to a very serious conversation about being injured and seeking aid (before Alistair threw them out of his room for 'being noisy'). He was grateful, however, that his brother waited until the end; after Arthur secured a promise that Alfred would seek him out or tell another trustworthy adult if he was hurt.

Blue eyes had searched him thoroughly and he did his best to be open. Whatever Alfred had been searching for, he must've found because he started looking at him a lot more.

At first, they were quick, stolen, furtive looks.

After receiving easy smiles for his efforts, the blue eyes would linger.

It wasn't that Alfred avoided eye contact before, but…

His gaze often wandered during conversation. True; sometimes it irritated him when he wanted the boy's attention. But he was trying to be more understanding...

Especially, as he was realizing that Alfred had struggled for years between the gap of various cultures instructing him on what was "right" and "proper."

Arthur had made it a point over the past few months to research more about the Iroquois as well as other tribes. They'd influenced his child greatly and their views on eye contact were very different than Europeans. It was often perceived as rude and defiant especially from children.

Well...

Alfred certainly had no trouble meeting anyone's eye when he felt defiant.

But...

What about when he was happy and content?

While it was true that even in the U.K. prolonged eye contact (staring) could be rude…

No eye contact (disinterest) could be just as rude…

It could also signal a lack of confidence or trustworthiness. That they were hiding something. That they felt ashamed...

And…

Perhaps, if Arthur was honest with himself, his real reason of frustration was that in Western Culture...looking into another's eyes was such an easy way to convey affection and establish a nurturing bond.

Parents were usually encouraged to do so while their children were in infancy to create an intimate trust.

He'd missed that time frame. He was playing catch up.

The problem was he didn't know Alfred's take on it all. He didn't want to force eye contact in happy moments if it made him uncomfortable. Raising Hong Kong had introduced him to that faux pas. In Kaoru's homeland, eye contact was a privilege of those in superior positions. The lowering of eyes was a sign of respect.

And yet, when Alfred didn't look at him...his instincts told him it wasn't...respect per se...but...something else...

Looking back over various interactions, he noticed that he did "force" Alfred quite a bit to look him in the eye when they were upset with one another.

Hopefully, the child didn't associate it with only scoldings and intimidation.

Damn it all…he hadn't failed miserably already, had he?

He glanced at Alfred, seated at the table, big blue eyes watching him.

When Arthur smiled at him, he flushed and looked down.

No...it was something else...

He wanted Alfred to know he was welcome to look at him. Especially when there was something tender in the look...as there had been all morning.

For centuries there'd been a flatness...no...a carefully constructed aloofness that dulled Alfred's grins to an obnoxious, cheerful, insincerity.

It almost seemed that while Alfred was comfortable scrutinizing things, he didn't permit himself to leisurely gaze. To have real emotion present as he looked on...

He couldn't help but wonder if the boy's government had a hand in that. Since their beginning, they'd constantly been on the lookout for threats and opportunities.

Alfred was safe here.

He needed the boy to know that.

He also needed to clarify that "physical" injuries weren't the only things to cause harm. Finding him alone that night, in that rocking chair acting like the whole world had abandoned him to grief. God, the image still twisted his heart.

"Arthur," Rhys greeted.

Arthur blinked at seeing his brother seated across from his son.

There was an almost unhealthy amount of amusement in his brother's eyes as he took notice of him.

Arthur was relieved to see his child's mood undampened.

Still, he'd rather not push his luck and allow Rhys more chances to put his foot in his mouth and upset Alfred. Arthur quickly gathered bread, jam, and cheese and tied them up in a small cloth.

He poured some tea the cook had on the stove into a thermos, grabbed a small Nesquik strawberry milk for Alfred, and piled it all into a small basket Rhys had conveniently brought down. He thanked him blandly as he borrowed it without real permission and then took his child by the hand-eager to get them out into the fresh air.

On the way to the garden, he paused-showing Alfred his phone. In his excitement, he'd taken quite a few pics of the bouquet—explaining how he had it on display in their rooms. To cheer the space and freshen the air there.

He also took their journey over as an opportunity to quietly inquire about Alfred's new stuffed animal companion.

The sheep was currently being squeezed to Alfred's little chest in unabashed delight.

He was very sorry to hear that Hop was lost.

And...touched...that even while Alfred had been intending to run away from the safety of his father's house. He'd subconsciously taken the toy; a token of his father's love along for the journey.

Alfred, for his part, seemed embarrassed to put it on a pedestal beside Arthur's wand.

But it was a treasure just the same.

"Don't worry, poppet," he assured-giving the hand in his a squeeze. "UnSeelies are shrewd and violent and dark. But not wasteful. They will have all of our things kept nice and safe and they'll demand some outrageous price for it. They like to barter and they love to bet. I'm certain I have a small vial of Nectar in Oxford. Been keeping it just in case of something like this. Don't fret. We'll sort it all out."

Alfred swung their arms joyfully as they entered the garden which had become a jungle of vines.

He was certain Alfred didn't notice it. His blue eyes were fixed on him as he asked excitedly about Arthur's past dealings with UnSeelies, but with each step they took, buds began to bloom.

They were soon traipsing through a wonderland of petals: Great loops of vines bursting with roses draped over head. Daffodils sprang up everywhere. Daisies and tulips that shouldn't have bloomed until Spring were making a mid-Winter appearance.

Sitting there in warm sunlight with Alfred pressing close to him—scattering crumbs everywhere with his messy eating habits (to the delight of numerous birds gathering), Arthur felt...calm.

The estrangement was over.

The spectre of 1812 had faded. Some ghosts needed only acknowledgment of the unfair cruelty they'd been subjected to in order to be appeased.

On finishing their small breakfast, he took to petting the soft gold head which had snuggled under his arm like a baby chick.

He felt hopeful.

Arthur was just starting to explain how Alfred could always come to him for _**any**_ hurt. That pain wasn't limited to flesh. That injuries to the spirit left untreated were danger-

Alfred interrupted. He demanded to know what types of bets UnSeelies made. What sorts of tasks did they force people to do? Other people might have failed, but not Father. Father was too clever for them, wasn't he?

He felt amused-that in the wake of Alfred's frosty reserve melting away the first thing he wanted was stories. Not discussion. Not apologies. Not comfort.

Stories. Fantastical adventures to feed that ravenous imagination. Still, the little one had missed so many bedtime stories and tea time tales, Arthur was more than willing to indulge.

The child surprised him by crawling onto his lap without any coaxing. Alfred curled up close to better listen and twisted his fingers in Arthur's vest right over his heart.

He felt needed.

With warm weight in his arms, and blue eyes on his face, and the sweet newborn smell of fields and flowers everywhere.

Arthur felt happy.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ or _Hamlet_. Or _The Nutcracker. Or Powerpoint. Or Legos._

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Scheele's Green or Schloss Green Wallpaper/paint was toxic to the nth degree. Whether it flaked and you breathed it in or it decayed and released chemicals or it invited mold that released chemicals...In short, BAD. Badbadbad. Arsine Gas is BAD. Swallowing Arsenic is BAD. And that was your health tip for the day. Flagellants (not to be confused with flatulence) were "religious zealots" of a 13th/14th Century Europe who would usually whip or paddle themselves (often with instruments that had nails or glass embedded in them) til they bled as they sang hymns and whatnot. It was a show of public atonement for sin. Popular during the Black Death. Weird? Definitely. Self-harm? Yes. Spectacle? Uncomfortable to think about let alone witness. I DO however give them a free pass. With plague everywhere and bodies filling the streets, it probably seemed like the world was ending. A chapter in which we view: awkward family drama. Fluff. Powerpoint. Mathieu is still struggling. Arthur is harried. Alfred's not out of the woods yet. Texas is dealing. Jet is awesome. Rhys is getting a handle on things. Alistair and Reilley are offstage. And Antonio...is just...Antonio...

 **AN:** Thanks for staying tuned! Your reviews help keep me stoked. And yes...I've had absurd amounts of homework. Every class thinks they're a special snowflake and they can just pile it on. Grrrrr. Eating my time. I swear, the system needs an overhaul. But anyways, thanks for your concern. I'm okay, just busy with school and work. Happy reading! : DDD

 **Chapter 44:** **Roos Can Explain All Of Life's Problems**

* * *

Alfred felt his cheeks warm yet again.

' _You know why.'_

It repeated itself over and over-thrilling and terrifying him at turns.

Because if Scotland...SCOTLAND! Of all people...thought it was obvious…

' _...I dunno why he...'_

' _You know why.'_

Loved him.

 _Loved_ him.

It was a simple, dangerous, treacherous revelation.

At times, he wasn't really sure he could deal with it...except he'd remember his despair when he felt he'd lost it.

Or the resignation he'd felt when Arthur threw him a bone now and then, with such a cold manner...that Alfred knew (or thought he knew) that it was given unwillingly.

Which was...

It was terrible to depend on something like that. Something that wasn't given freely. Something that faltered...better to disregard it altogether.

Hell, he'd wondered at times if it was better to be hated than liked half-heartedly.

Better to stake "Dead End" signs on a road that would only lead him somewhere perilous and painful.

Better to simplify it...simplify his world…reduce it to a space where he just had to deal with his own feelings.

Gradually though…

He'd extended that sphere to Texas and the space became a footpath. It gave him just enough room to shuffle back and forth and consider courses of action from another perspective (even if the angle was only different by mere degrees most of the time). Perhaps, it was that familiarity that made him comfortable later to travel further out. For with time he came to take excursions-meeting with Hawaii and Alaska and Molossia and others who would come to make up his nation. But he usually withdrew when things became complicated. He'd go back to that well-worn footpath...or retreat entirely into himself.

Now though…

NOW!

He was thrown back!

And the road that had been blocked off had evolved during the time he'd neglected it! It was now a frickin' European highway with all those damn crazy roundabouts! Specifically made to make him dizzy and disoriented.

 _"Have you been telling yourself this all morning? 'Oh no, everyone hates me? How will I ever endure?'"_

 _"Everyone does NOT hate you."_

But his world was simpler that way!

 _"I should think that...you will be...pleased to know that I DO care. I…I care quite a bit."_

" _Nobody_ _ **drags**_ _me anywhere."_

" _Are you daft?! Like it's even a fucking choice!"_

" _You know why."_

 _"I-I'm...I'm so-so glad...yer...alright!"_

...came looking for him when he went missing…months ago...

...stayed when the going got tough…

And no...not even when he messed everything up yesterday…

The world _didn't_ end…

He hadn't even been punished…

The world beyond his little dirt trails was crazy complicated! And now he was s'posed to be thinking about the thoughts and feelings of all these other people!? All the time?! How was he gonna get stuff done? It was almost overwhelming!

How the heck was he s'posed to-

A warm hand pet his hair and he closed his eyes, listening to both Arthur's heartbeat along with the vital information the old man had to give via anecdotes of his interactions with the "fair folk."

He twisted his fingers in the older man's vest; he was going to redeem himself!

Somehow.

Had to.

And he needed to know more Seelies and UnSeelies, if he was gonna navigate this new fairy world that he was such a noob at.

He shivered as a cold wind blew.

Arthur paused his story and held him more tightly-rubbing his arms and sighing that Alfred wasn't dressed warmly enough.

In the silence, while Arthur scrutinized his outfit, Alfred swore he heard the tinkling of music far...far off...

He shuddered again; this time for a different reason.

What could they still want? How could he be any clearer that they needed to leave him the hell alone?!

Arthur fussed over him in concern and stood up, "I don't want you catching cold. Let's go in."

They kept close together in the parlor-Arthur sweeping, Alfred kneeling with the dustpan.

Maybe it was the sunlight filtering in. Maybe it was the tireless efforts of the manor's staff. Maybe it was the easy conversation; Arthur was looking forward to taking the lot of them to go see _The Nutcracker_.

Or maybe it was the way Arthur wasn't complaining. He didn't bat an eye when he had to sweep up some broken glass. Only remarked that he didn't want Alfred holding the pan for that part. It'd be terrible to get glass on him.

Like he'd never endured that before; dealing with rowdy folks as he worked in taverns or hauled out criminals from saloons.

Arthur held it with his foot with an ease of practice that Alfred realized, the older man didn't really need him there at all.

He watched as Arthur carried the "rubbish" over to a separate bin.

Didn't really need him…

But Arthur smiled as he handed the dustpan back and ushered him over to another corner.

As the Briton did so, he abruptly flicked Alfred's ear and told him to stop flattering himself:

"The Manor endured far worse in several fires over the years. Why one time, the Entire West Wing was destroyed! And honestly, your vines haven't caused near as much trouble as Scheele's Green wallpaper did."

* * *

Arthur clapped his hands on Alfred's shoulders, "That's enough, lad."

He'd toil all day with the self-punishing zeal of a flagellant, if Arthur let him.

"But-but-" Alfred pointed, little hand dwarfed by the adult pair of gardening gloves on him, to vines that were still in the room.

Arthur had refused to let him help at all unless he wore them. He wasn't going to stand by and watch those soft, pink fingers bleed.

"Tomorrow," Arthur replied-plucking the gloves from Alfred with ease and setting them on the half circle console.

He hefted the child up, settled him on his hip, and ignored the sharp twinge in his ankle.

He was sure a goodnight's rest and several easy days would heal it.

He was just walking down the hall toward the entryway, where he could hear some sort of crowd forming, when his cellphone vibrated with an incoming text.

He leisurely pulled his phone out to see that Wales had sent him a message:

 _ **Beware! Spain!**_

"PIRATA!"

He immediately ducked and narrowly missed the travelling trunk swung at his head.

"Dammit Spain," England hissed "I'm holding a child!"

"You missed, idiota! Try again! Hit 'em, already!" Romano called from the sidelines. "Hit 'em and uh-uh-w-what are you staring at Rodeo Bastard?"

The Texan was blatantly glowering at him before he turned and clapped his hands around his mouth to amplify his shout, "Oye! What are you doing!? Dammit, this is why I can't take you anywhere Papi! You're _**so**_ embarrassing!"

"Your outfit's embarrassing," Lovino grumbled.

Texas gave a hard stare at Romano, turned to Canada who was nearby, and shrugged, "Maybe I'm not a good counselor. I still hate that rotten tomater."

Spain spluttered while South Italy nervously sidestepped away.

Antonio set his trunk down and turned back to face his former colony-tutting, "Tejas, that's mean. Poor Romano has never-"

"Papi, why are you here?" the brunette interrupted.

"They said you were kidnapped! Didn't say by who. I brought Lovi. He has _connections._ "

"The hell does that mean?"

"Mafia, mijo. See? Such innocence. I worry."

"Uh, yeah, well...I'm not captured now. So...adios muchachos."

"You won't come with me, if I ask you to…will you?" Antonio murmured.

Against his will, Arthur felt a real twinge of empathy at that tone of resignation. He rested his cheek on top of his child's head. Yes...he knew it too well.

Texas colored but didn't answer.

And Arthur remembered far too many occasions where he deliberately mentioned various events; from balls and concerts to charity fundraisers to prompt Alfred into expressing some desire to attend. Because it was a matter of pride, that his empire was flourishing and it was equal parts arrogance and affection that he wanted to share that with Alfred.

But the child never seemed to want to come…

Arthur frowned; no…it wasn't lack of interest…

By then, the boy was too proud to ask and Arthur, too mannered, to press him for his feelings on such things.

Damnation; they'd both just waltzed through the last few centuries-too injured to be forthright with one another and too arrogant to admit they were injured in the first place!

"Then I must stay here instead," Antonio replied abruptly.

Arthur and his brothers choked in response.

"When did we agree to this?!" Arthur squawked. As if there wasn't enough to deal with in his own household!? Now he was getting additional drama from the Carrideo Clan?!

"You should've offered," Antonio shrugged "A real gentleman would. And I helped. Against those large...unhappy antler-beast-things. You owe me."

"Toldja when Spain gets his foot in the door…" Tex muttered from his spot-leaning against a pillar.

Antonio nodded at him, "And you pequeño, not greeting me properly!"

"..."

Spain frowned and then smiled and opened his arms-expecting a hug.

"..."

"Tejas! Me tenias muy preocupado."

Texas looked away "..."

"Tejas…" the tone hardened.

Texas crossed his arms.

"Ven aca."

"..."

A dark scowl crossed the normally cheerful man's face and he grit through his teeth, "Ven aca ahora mismo. We just spent hours in holiday traffic for you."

"Yeah, mocoso," Mexico piped up-pushing her way through the crowd. "My butt fell asleep; we were trapped in the car so long."

"Like I ever want to hear about your butt-" Texas snapped back.

"Eres un cabro-"

"Tejaaaas."

Texas gave a long suffering sigh. He glared at the ceiling. He sighed again and then grumbled as he walked over-spurs clanging.

For a long time Arthur had assumed he'd endured Alfred's teenage years, he realized with dread that he hadn't! Good God, was _**that**_ in his future?!

He eyed the sullen Texan warily.

Spain grinned and gave Texas a back-crushing hug-lifting the young man up for a moment before setting him back down and kissing him on the cheek.

"And ya wonder why I don't want you meeting me at the airport" the lad grumbled wiping off his cheek as he blushed.

Arthur barely withheld a groan of aggravation. At this rate, France and Prussia were going to turn up and any semblance of order would be gone.

* * *

Canada pursed his lips. He was frustrated with himself for feeling frustrated with England and America.

America had turned down an invitation to sit beside him-opting to sit between England and Sealand. The latter of whom now found America especially interesting now that he was aware of magic. Though he was a bit critical.

"Well, if you made all the vines come in, can't you make them leave?" Peter demanded.

"Well...it's hard, they...well...the thing with plant neurobiology is...plants don't have brains, dude. It's tough getting them to process things like a person. You can order them all you want, they don't get it. They use sensory data to come to decisions. And it's hard getting them to leave once they realize there's water in the pipes and that they can get sun and shade in a room where the temperature is mild. Plus, I'm not even entirely sure how I called them all in."

"Hmmmm," Peter nodded energetically-expression betraying that everything Alfred said sailed right over his head. "Maybe I should be your coach?!"

"Maybe you should stop rocking that chair on its hind legs before you damage to it or yourself," Arthur scolded.

"O-oh. Right. I just-it's exciting. Ya know, I read a lot of history books and I read in one that the Salem Witch-"

"Peter," Arthur warned "We're eating-"

"It's interesting!" the boy defended "Alfred! Did they ever accuse you-"

Alfred's fork scraped a bit as he tried to lap up some ketchup.

"Alfred" Arthur sighed "Dipping sauce is not to be eaten in that manner-"

"Tch. I was probably the only witch they caught and I escaped super easy. Like a wooden cell could hold me. Tell ya what though, me and Edward Farrington got the heck outta dodge once we broke out."

Mathieu blinked-surprised, concerned, and a bit...offended. Alfred had often harassed him as a child for being left-handed and here _he_ was the one who'd been the "witch."

Arthur had stared at Alfred for a full beat, before pulling his child's chair closer and fussing over him and why he hadn't written him?!

Peter immediately moved his chair closer-eager for details.

"I was fine and...I wasn't good enough at my letters yet," Alfred shrugged. "And when you got back...you were all tired from...from that" he frowned in concentration before his expression clear "that-that-that _other_ war with France."

Alfred smiled, as if pleased with himself for remembering this tidbit of world history.

"Nine Year's War," Arthur offered.

"Dude" he shook his head slowly "I have NO idea how you keep them all straight."

Mathieu sighed; how was he supposed to fix things between them when Alfred kept refusing his company and Arthur kept guarding him?

It was becoming apparent that his former guardian had taken to hovering in hopes of supervising all of their interactions with Alfred now.

Even though it had come to light that none of them were responsible for the boat prank (and Wales had formally apologized for punishing them), Arthur was still on the defensive.

He'd been grateful and relieved that Mathieu had arrived yesterday to help, but he still didn't...trust him alone with Alfred.

Which was…

He never should've given the pacifier.

If he'd known the fallout that would occur over that stupid stunt…

Via webcam, Alfred had "accepted" an admittedly crappy apology but now he was blatantly rejecting further contact with him.

He'd definitely hit a nerve. Which...yes...was pretty much what he'd been after but...he hadn't been prepared for how sensitive a nerve it was.

Texas had done his best to explain that Alfred was feeling insecure about his downsizing. Maybe Mathieu just had trouble thinking Alfred could truly BE insecure.

"Texas," He began. He needed assistance.

His brother ignored him to focus on his plate.

"Texas," he repeated.

Texas gestured to his own family, "Thank god, most of his colonies are still sore at him. Could you imagine if Peru was here too? Or Guatemala?"

As it was, the staff still had to pull another table out of reserve to seat everyone comfortably. If only because the _visitors_ were extremely animated as they sat and talked. There was talk about settling them into Reilley's wing, though Tex made it clear he'd be escaping to Wales' wing if that was the case.

" _Or she'll get me in my sleep!"_ was his reasoning.

Canada let his eyes wander.

Romano and Antonio were chatting or rather Antonio was chatting and Romano was complaining about being far away from home and having to deal with a stupid, British Christmas in some trashed dump with English food.

Mexico pointed her fork threateningly at her younger brother, "You. Will. Pay. For ruining Christmas."

"Fork you too" Texas growled-brandishing his own eating utensil at her. He turned back to Canada, "Sorry Matt. Every man for himself right now."

He honestly couldn't say which sibling relationship was worse.

Texas and Mexico were undeniably hostile, but at least they spoke to each other.

Alfred just shut down and went silent, which for someone as chatty as him was a feat.

The frustrated feeling intensified as Arthur announced his intention to send his wards, as well as his uninvited guests, into town for dinner and a movie.

His treat.

Following the meal, he'd handed a thick wad of notes to Olivia (who he usually trusted with the finances of an outing if Rhys was unavailable to chaperone).

"Be sure to get the little ones some sweets, but not so much that-"

"They get a belly hurt," she sighed-having heard this millions of times by now.

"Precisely."

Already, New Zealand and Australia were in the planning stages-figuring that they'd need to be split into two parties: A Universal Audience and an 18 and up one. Who was going to be nice and sit with the kids, who was going to go watch something they actually wanted.

Mathieu fidgeted; it was a nice gesture. Truly. Usually, Yule was a movie marathon day. Arthur and the rest of their U.K. guardians would be rushing about preoccupied with their strange Pagan rituals.

And the staff would be hard pressed to keep Wy and Peter from acting out due to sheer boredom and a vacuum of bushy-eye-browed authority.

In light of recent events, Arthur decided to reward everyone-from former colonies to most of the staff in their handling of the Vine Invasion.

Most of the staff were being given the night off. Only Mr. Gray, Mr. Moffet, Mrs. Sutton, and Mrs. O'Hannagain were staying behind.

Everyone else was looking forward to an evening out.

Why couldn't he be like everyone else?

As they dispersed following the meal for a game of soccer, Mathieu withdrew to the Drawing Room which they'd managed to clean up. A few leaves here and there and a few glass panels that were patched up until the windows could be repaired were all that was left of the drama.

He thought staring out at the pond would calm his nerves except-

There.

Beyond the window.

Bundled up with a scarf, gloves, and earmuffs was Alfred-running around on the grass. Chasing after him, not nearly as encumbered in winter gear, was Arthur.

Peter trotted up beside Mathieu in curiosity. He wrinkled his nose at the sight, "Ugh, magic at their disposal and they're playing baby games." He rolled his eyes and walked over to the basket holding Alfred's Legos and helped himself.

Apparently, _that_ wasn't a baby toy.

Now interested, Jamaica and New Zealand joined Canada at his post by the window.

"Awwww, they're so cute!"

"And here I thought old Arthur's knees were shot from having to climb after me in trees so much. Ya know, whenever he's tipsy he complains about it," Jet sniggered, "Says I was more exhausting than the Crusades! Good to know, the ol' dog still has some energy left in him."

Alfred and Arthur's impromptu game of tag gave way to rough-housing...which well...wasn't rough; Arthur lifted the child up and fell over in a soft tumble.

Alfred twisted his way free and then abruptly pounced-trying to turn the tables with tickling.

Except that Arthur wasn't very ticklish...and Alfred was.

And so he really only managed to get himself into a very vulnerable position...which Arthur promptly exploited.

Jamaica and Australia laughed openly while Alfred thrashed.

"Oh he be down for the count," Pippa giggled. "He's up against the expertise of the British Empire!"

Arthur's fingers danced along his neck and the back of his knees with the knowing of a concert pianist.

"Never! My star-spangled cousin always has a rough go at the start of it, he'll turn the tides."

Sure enough, after taking quite a "beating" Alfred did disentangle himself to Jet's delight.

As Pippa and Jet took to commentating on who was going to "win" the battle.

Mathieu felt irritated-what he couldn't ignore was that while Alfred DID run away from the "attacks," he never ran far.

And Arthur's lunges were slow and deliberate.

Why were they out there?

Wasn't Arthur's ankle still hurting? He'd seen the man limp when he thought no one was watching.

Hadn't Alfred been upset over the attack of the UnSeelies? Where were those feelings now?

If this was a family holiday, why weren't they in here with them? The family?

"And it doesn't bother you at all?" he muttered, fingers plucking at the curtains in agitation. "That he stays behind and the rest of us are all sent off?"

"Nah," Jet shrugged "I think of it...like roos."

Jake immediately started snickering from his spot on the couch.

"Shut it, Jake. It's true!"

Mathieu felt an eyebrow lift incredulously.

Jake started laughing harder.

Australia tapped his finger on the glass as he spoke. First on Alfred and then hopping it over to Arthur: "Joey's gotta go back in the pouch."

Mathieu stared.

Jake started choking with mirth.

Pippa rolled her eyes, "It's always roos with ya, Jet."

Undeterred, Jet insisted, "Roos can explain all of life's problems."

* * *

Texas was outside playing midfield in a soccer game of epic overzealousness-if only because he and Mexico were on different teams...and Mexico was a showoff. They spent most of their time hollering insults at each other and at Romano (who was a wuss and didn't want to play). The tomato just wanted to be referee so he could be important...and blatantly cheat in scoring to favor Antonio.

Mathieu and Texas were out waiting for the ball to draw near when Texas got a text.

"Ack, gotta go; Al needs me."

He waved off pleas to stay from his team and might've made a rude gesture or three when Mexico sneered: "That's right cobarde, you better run! You can never hold your own against me!"

"Diabla," he muttered and then blinked as he suddenly realized that Mathieu had followed him to the house.

"Uhh...Matt?"

"Al needs...help?"

"Uhhhhhhh…" he kicked his heel against the ground and looked around for inspiration on how to gently articulate the situation. It didn't come. "Matt, I dunno if he'll want you to come."

Which apparently was the wrong thing to say since Matt just got more determined to accompany him.

Texas fiddled with his hat and then pulled his phone out and went to show a recent pic Al has sent.

"Maybe you should go the gift route" he offered-showing the sheep toy Al now adored. "It's working wonders for Rhys."

Canada's violet eyes widened, "Rhys gave him that?"

"Yeah, made it. Guess he's crafty. I'll have to tell Hawaii. She's always looking for buddies who are into that sort-"

Matt had a weird expression on his face.

He must've been just as shocked as Tex that Rhys, The-Hoity-Toity-Haughty-One, stepped up to bat at all. He didn't seem the type interested in the game of Familial Mushiness.

He felt his pride twinge on Al's behalf, as he entered the Nursery and spotted Al stationed at a row of children's desks.

He was surprised and a bit alarmed to see Rhys patrolling between a projector and its screen as it warmed up.

"Texas? Mathieu?" Arthur murmured in surprise from the back corner where he was sitting with his laptop. "What is it lads? Is someth-"

"Arthur," Mathieu started then stopped then forged on. "Tonight...you're...you're sending us off."

"I...I'm sending you into town," Arthur agreed with a slightly puzzled look. "I thought you'd all appreciate some time-"

"You're dismissing us for an evening," Mathieu challenged flatly.

"No. I'm...considering the...situation," Arthur posed delicately "I thought it would be more comfortable for you all to dine out-"

"But Alfred stays," he interrupted.

"He needs instruction."

"You...you never sought to _**instruct**_ the rest of us," he muttered. "For Yule."

"It's no light matter. Once someone dedicates himself to the art, there's no returning. Rituals must be performed lest-"

"And yet Alfred-"

"His ship sailed," Arthur snapped "He's been a practitioner since infancy. There's no denying or dissuading it now. His magic needs replenish-"

"I have talent," Mathieu frowned "Yet, you've never offered to train-"

"You've dipped your toes. You've never had a price exacted from you as Alfred, his uncles, and I have. Once you do large-scale feats, the magic will _**take**_. We...We can talk more another time."

Mathieu's brows furrowed.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "Beltane's Day. If...after our discussion you're still set on it. I'll include you in Belt-"

"I've celebrated May Day-"

"We. Will. Talk. Later."

"But-"

"We can't handle two novices at once, Mathieu. Not...right now. This one is...important."

"So I can be included in the less important one," Mathieu muttered.

Arthur immediately got flustered and argued back that Matt was misinterpreting him on purpose.

It was kinda like watching a train wreck. 'Cept the train was jealousy...er...resentment? Or wait, no the tracks were blocked by a log of jealousy or a Hayes-built bumper or...Aw hell with it, he wasn't the poet in the family.

He glanced over to see Al watching the fiasco with big eyes; Texas shuffled backward to sit with him.

The chair was way too short and he had to stretch his legs out to slide them under the desk.

Tex covertly texted: God, _he's so jelly._

He received back: _**?**_

 _U hanging out w/ ur Daddy._

 _ **?! I'm in Lecture Hall Hell!**_

 _Ik, right?_

Arthur huffed, "Lad, you're trying my patience. Of course, Alfred needs to be here with us. It's essential that he participates tonight-"

If Tex squinted, he could see where Matt was gettin' a vibe of favoritism but...there was some real truth in what Arthur was saying. Tex had pretty much been able to see ghosts since Day 1. It expanded from there to him being able to see sprites and stuff. He had a strong feeling that if he pursued it, he could develop the talent.

But it was damn creepy.

And he didn't really know where it would lead. So he did the sensible thing: and stayed the fuck away from the Dark Arts.

The lights went off.

He jolted, "Eep!"

"S'okay Tex," Al touched his elbow comfortingly, "The hero's here! And that was just Rhys."

"Mathieu, you're putting us behind schedule," Rhys interrupted from his spot beside the light switch. He moved back forward to stand beside the screen. "You can stay for the presentation or you can meet up with us afterwards in regards to the matter."

Mathieu reluctantly sat down on Tex's other side-scrunched up and irritable.

And so began Rhys's Powerpoint.

He was a grim figure armed with a pointer stick that he whapped against the screen whenever he made an important point.

Tex was amused to see Arthur demoted to a technical aid: Honorary Slide Changer. The Brit gave a deep look of concentration as he followed along with what looked like a stapled together script marked for when he was to hit the arrows on his laptop to transition the slides.

"For your safety," Rhys announced "We have decided to hold identification lessons."

He gestured to the screen:

 **Mythological Categorization and YOU**

A Guide For Safely Engaging With The Fae Around You

It changed over to a stick person surrounded by crudely drawn dragons and fairies.

"I am not an artist," Rhys declared without shame "But my intention is clear: There are magical creatures all around you. And as you, Alfred, are a direct descendent of our line these beings will be naturally interested in you. That isn't to say you two" he tapped his stick on Canada and Texas' desks "Won't encounter creatures as well, but this presentation wasn't tailored for you. Moving On: Therefore, Alfred, your main challenge will be distinguishing which ones mean you well, from which ones mean you harm. Rational decisions that you cannot make while you are unaware of their natures. _**That**_ is why we are having these classes. To better inform you. So that you can make your decisions yourself on who you wish to befriend."

Tex felt a growing sense of admiration for the Welsh one. He, at least, had recognized the importance of free choice when dealing with Alfred.

You did not back him into a corner with a set of rules and expectations for him to abide by. Ya gave him what information you could and you let him mete out his own solution.

Rhys thwacked the stick authoritatively and Arthur moved the presentation to its next portion which was a split screen:

"We will start with what you know."

On the right hand side, there was a slightly better hand drawn illustration depicting that flying green bunny thing that he'd seen in the Play Place tunnels.

At Tex's unspoken question, Rhys nodded "Mythological creatures, as Texas knows, are difficult to photograph or record...and yes...Alistair is more gifted in doodling."

"Mint, while mischievous, as most fae are, IS ultimately benevolent. She's a Seelie. She will help and reward as she sees fit. She will however expect some manner of tribute for services rendered and for continued friendship. That's pretty common of all Helper types. English hailing brownies (as opposed to Scottish ones) are similar in nature. Domestic helpers, you see? She-"

"-is mad at me…" Alfred mumbled sadly.

"O poppet, don't fret," Arthur hastily assured him. "She loses her temper with me too. Fae are mercurial beings."

"Mercurial," Texas echoed. "Mercurial?"

The words this guy and Al liked to just throw into conversation...

"Like Mercutio," Alfred loudly whispered to him.

"Like who?"

"Like-like Mercutio, dude!"

"You're speakin' in tongues."

"He's Romeo's bro, Bro!"

"..."

"In Romeo and Juliet, it's the dude with the quicksilver temper who I kill...and it gets me killed."

Texas nodded in vague recollection, "..riiiight, right...that guy."

Truth be told, despite going to the damn thing multiple times-he couldn't say he'd really _seen_ it. He did his brotherly duty; stayed awake until Al's character died and then paid the person next to him to wake him up for the curtain call.

"I'm almost always Tybalt in _Romeo and Juliet_ ," Alfred explained to Arthur and Rhys. "But in _Hamlet_ , I was usually Fortinbras...he...he doesn't have that many lines..."

"He says plenty," Arthur insisted. "Why he's a driving force for the whole play. His whole purpose is to serve as a foil. And no moment is more poignant than when he steps onstage-battle-ready and glorious just by appearing. I'm sure you were brilliant. I wish you'd have told me, theatre is one of my joys-"

Rhys cleared his throat, and moved his stick to the left hand side of the screen depicting a creepy wrinkled man with long claws.

"That's from the internet. It's a bodoach, or as Alistair insists, bodach. Like what you encountered. As you've learned firsthand, it is malevolent. UnSeelie. It's a masculine bogeyman figure. Plays nasty tricks. Eats children. Prefers darkness."

"Throws good shadow puppet shows," Alfred volunteered.

"...throws good shadow puppet shows," Rhys accepted and then began pacing slowly, "Now, it is a common rule of thumb to generally assume that UnSeelies mean you harm. That isn't to say that they never help, that they can't be bribed to help (they can), or that they never act as a neutral force. But usually if you encounter one the best course of action is to lose it as swiftly as possible and to alert a capable adult such as myself or Alba."

When no other names were listed, Arthur squawked, "H-hey!"

"...or Norway," Rhys amended.

"Wanker."

Rhys continued, "There will also be fairies, elves, and other fae who do not fit cleanly into either kingdom. As well as those who will have either chosen not to pledge themselves to a court or who have been banished. I advise you take notes. There will be a quiz."

Matt scrambled to look for supplies and Alfred immediately ripped a blank page out of his spiral notebook for Tex to use. He made no move to provide for Matt.

Tex stared hard at it, "I thought this lesson was just for Al."

He left a fun soccer game for this?

"..."

"I mean, you didn't even know I was coming?!"

"..."

"Uh…"

"..."

"Erm…"

"..." Rhys's eyes narrowed.

It was amazing how hostile silence could be.

"Right. I'll just...I'll just go on and take some notes. I don't have a pen-"

Rhys took one from his clipboard at the front and set it down on Tex's desk with a bit more force than was warranted.

"...Thanks."

Rhys nodded and had Arthur change slides.

"Next up are Thrummy Caps and Red Caps. Which, despite their similar sounding titles, are quite different."

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol._ Or _Harry Potter._ Or _Treasure Hunt_ the game show.

 **Warning:** Profanity! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). In which Alistair is kinda sexist. Rhys has a valid point. Arthur's less than golden parenting past crops up. Eavesdropping is a conspicuous hobby. And you gotta be careful with what you wish for.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm dealing with exams DX Blech. Got an essay to write next. Ugh. And seeing your guys' enthusiasm for this story keeps me writing. Thanks for all the well wishes, I've needed them! : DDD

Hope you enjoy!

 **Chapter 45:** **Dread Began To Drip**

* * *

Alfred shifted restlessly from foot to foot. He'd been the only one that was released after the lesson ended.

He made a show of leaving-taking care to breathe an audible "Hallelujah" as he slammed the door shut and stomped away.

It really hadn't been that bad, but if he was gonna make this work...he had to be sneaky.

He turned the corner, counted to ten, and cautiously creeped back-curious as to what Rhys and Arthur had to say to his brothers.

Rhys's voice (despite being muffled by the door) was noticeably irritated: "I can tell you right off that a doodle of you lassoing a steer was _**NOT**_ the correct answer to number 5."

"I don't get why I was tested at all," Tex whined. "I didn't sign up for this."

"It is imperative that you become well-informed in this subject."

Unfortunately, Alfred assumed there was going to be a bit more back and forth between them.

There wasn't.

"Yeah whatever," Tex swung open the door and barely managed to avoid tripping over Alfred. "Whoa."

Alfred threw a desperate finger to his lips.

"What is it?" Rhys asked.

"N-nuthin' ...nearly tripped. Carpet."

Rhys sighed, "Yes; I think a few vines have crept under it here and there."

Tex shut the door behind himself.

Alfred kept his finger against his lips and hissed a soft "Shh" and then pointed to the room. Tex gave an affirmative nod and knelt down so both brothers could be eye level and take turns peeking through the keyhole.

Canada slowly approached Arthur who was packing up the electronics of the presentation.

"I...I have legitimate concerns over your...your lack of concern when it comes to my own instruction in the...arts," their Canadian brother declared.

"You're making this interest known _now_?" Arthur replied flatly, looking up from where he was coiling an extension cord.

"I-I never had an opportunity; your rooms! Your books! They were always off limits!" He snapped back a bit defensively.

"Yes; when your were boys but...Mathieu…you...were my ward for _years_ and...you were with me often this past year, you didn't...Mathieu, what is this all about?" Arthur asked-sounding genuinely confused, concerned, and frustrated.

Rhys didn't mince words, "Mathieu, you aren't the priority right now and for good reason-"

Alfred winced.

"Rhys!? Bedside manner? Where is yours?!" Arthur ran a fretful hand through his hair "Yule is...Yule...It's vital that we help him replenish...I don't want to frighten the poor thing, but-"

"And what do we have here?" A Scottish voice rumbled behind the Americans.

Both gulped and turned to see a disgruntled Alistair scowling down at them.

"I-I-"

"We-er-"

They shared a panicked glance.

"I liked your picture of the bunny thing!" Tex blurted.

Alistair flushed and muttered, "I knew it. I knew Reilley took it. Drinking-Drawing Contest my arse! Come on you two; if you've energy for eavesdropping than you've energy for helping prep the clearing."

Arthur had been kind of secretive earlier when they'd been playing and Alfred had started asking questions about what he'd have to do that night.

Now he'd get a sneak peak!

Alistair led them out, away from the house, over to two sheds. The closer one was newer-with white paint and green trim and and was filled with gardening supplies. He'd hidden in that one the night he'd gotten all butthurt about Mattie riling up Texas.

Not the best-smelling spot, with fertilizer and insecticides, but it was way better than the second shed.

The other one was also white, or...was white but...the paint was peeling in places and stained by years of neglect. It had no door, a dirt floor, and a creepy rack of hanging tools that creaked and jangled with the breeze.

Considering how immaculate the rest of the estate was, it was a surprise Arthur let it stay.

Against its wall outside was an impressive woodpile.

"It's fallin' to pieces," Tex commented as their group slowed in front of it.

"It's fine," Alistair refuted. "My shed still has at least another decade in it. And I'm not replacing it until it caves in."

The American brothers shared a look.

"Fine. Make yer bets. It'll last and I'll expect a cut."

"I like the other shed," Alfred admitted.

Alistair rolled his eyes, "You would."

"Why not? It's like an itty bitty house! It's got windows with shutters and a welcome mat! And lots of the stuff inside matches! There's a color theme."

"Because that's what matters...green shutters and a mat."

Yeah, that stuff mattered.

He knew firsthand what it was like to do without. To live in places so shabby he never dared to invite Arthur or Mathieu.

Especially following 1812…

No…

It would've given England too much satisfaction to see him humiliated...degraded...ruined-

 _"NO! NO, I_ _ **never**_ _ordered that!"_

 _"Sweetheart, I never even knew until this year!"_

 _"I'd have taken you straight home with me if I had. God, Alfred, I-I-"_

 _"I would_ _ **never**_ _allow it!"_

Arthur's words screeched across his senses like startled birds after a gunshot.

He blinked.

That was right.

That was...right...

It was just so easy to fall into that... _other_ …well-worn train of thought, than to think that Arthur had simply been oblivious.

 _Oblivious._

Alfred had been enduring quite possibly the worst experience of his life...and Arthur had been oblivious.

What had given him relief hours ago, now gave him a sharp pain.

To be...beneath notice…

No! He'd been secretive on purpose! Not being discovered was...good...was what he wanted...right?

Arthur didn't even look for him…

Uncle Al and Uncle Reilley came looking for him...

Goddamn it! He was being so friggin' fickle.

Stupid feelings!

He was a man of action. He needed to do-do-do manly action-y things.

That would fix him.

Alfred frowned and eyed an axe resting in a stump. Splitting logs wasn't something he'd done since being downsized. But he was game to try! As long as Alistair didn't tease him about a less than stellar performance.

Alistair followed his gaze as he set down a heavy stack of firewood onto a metal wagon, "What?"

"I...I haven't practiced…"

"Huh? Oh. Idgit. He'd have my head if I let yeh...never mind-take a seat...up here," he patted a corner of the steel framed wagon.

Alfred climbed up and balanced on a corner.

Alistair pulled the axe up and handed it to Texas-pointing to where work needed to be done.

The older man gave an authoritative nod and then returned to Alfred. Without further ado, he grabbed the pull handle and led them down a somewhat level dirt path into the woods.

"What? I don't get to hitch a ride?" Texas called after them.

"You chop more wood, ya loudmouthed, uninvited, eavesdroppin' taco-eater. Consider it pittance for the Spanish plague ye set on our house."

"Tch….pajero..."

"Yeh know? You're going to have to try a lot harder if you're going to match up to yer _**Papi**_ _,"_ Alistair sneered.

" _Pajero!"_

"That one was better. Not a match, mind you, but better."

Alfred noticed Alistair was smirking, so he couldn't be in too bad mood. Which was good...probably.

Uncle Al had been so weird lately. Not that Alfred had much room to complain; his thought-process had resulted in a vine invasion.

He couldn't really help it though-his thoughts were all over the place and his feelings…

Ugh...it was like he was a ball of yarn that had been entirely unraveled and everyone was tripping on him.

Alfred just had...issues with...everything.

So what was Alistair's deal?

Alfred swung his legs; he was surprised he was being taken for a ride at all. Given some of their interactions lately, he half-expected Alistair to turn on him with a mighty mood swing and flip the wagon over.

Eventually, apprehension gave way to a kiddie thrill of excitement as they wheeled down the forest path.

Because he hadn't really been allowed to explore the woods and the fact that creepy stuff seemed to happen in them-didn't really make it seem like a good idea.

Which almost made it forbidden...A Forbidden Forest! Like Harry Potter! Which made it cool.

And he was with Uncle Al, who'd cut that bodach's arm off like a bad ass pruning rosebushes, so they _**had**_ to be safe.

"Are we there y-"

"Don't you dare."

Alfred swallowed the question and leaned forward.

They were headed to a clearing...the stage of their Yule ritual tonight. Excitement began to bubble in his stomach. It had to be somewhere neat. Somewhere magical. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere...

" _Wondrous."_

YES! Yesyesyes. It had to be wondrous.

It had to-

Oh…

He'd been brought to a campsite.

The clearing seemed kinda ordinary-just a big flat spot with a large firepit at the center. Off on one side there was a large narrow slab of rock that stood straight up-reminding him of a music stand.

The area was boxed by four logs that probably served as benches. Trust the Kirkland Brothers to each have their own and not just share.

Though to be fair. There was that one time Alfred hadn't let Sealand share a log with him on the beach. And there was that other time at a meeting where it was insinuated that he was fat and so Alfred had spent the rest of the day hogging seats and tables.

He looked around.

So this was where the magic was s'posed to happen?

Kinda...underwhelming...

"Off yeh get."

Alfred slid down and blinked as his uncle handed him a velvet pouch. It was pretty heavy. He peered inside and saw it was full of polished rocks.

"So...circles are important," Scotland stated. "They're a line with no beginning or end."

Alfred nodded as he remembered Arthur's lesson about Celtic Knots, "...Everlasting…"

His cheeks warmed a bit.

"Tha's right. Infinity. Which is why you'll be making your circle with those." Alistair steered Alfred "You'll start...here." He tapped his toe at the place.

Sure enough as Alfred studied the ground, he noticed that other rocks had already been laid down in the dirt. A ring of topaz, followed by one of quartzite, than igneous rock, and finally lapis lazuli.

Each progressive ring was a bit further out than the previous one.

"Why do I have to be here? Why can't I be there or there?"

"Simple."

Alfred looked over.

Alistair watched him solemnly.

Alfred stared back-determined not to be cowed.

Amusement and something that almost seemed like sadness flash over his uncle's face. It was gone though before Alfred could really think about it.

He crooked a finger to indicate that Alfred should come closer.

Cautiously, he did.

Alistair stared at him with intense gray eyes.

And just when Alfred held his breath in anticipation.

"It's because…." Alistair smirked "we were here first, anklebiter."

Alfred's cheeks puffed in annoyance.

Alistair laughed, "Sorry laddie, you're stuck next to Arthur."

"So...which bench is ours?"

"...that one."

"But it doesn't have a tree to give it cover! Your guys's all have-"

"It's still that one. No changes."

"...Kay."

The rocks were smooth and it was almost a shame to set them all down. He liked hearing them clack together in the bag as he moved.

Alistair busied himself strategically stacking wood in the firepit. It looked like he was prepping for a good-sized bonfire.

When Alfred said as much, Alistair answered, "That git thinks you'll catch cold, if I don't light half the forest for yeh."

Alfred felt his face heat up because even now...just a little while since leaving the house he was, admittedly, kinda cold. He'd forgotten to bring gloves-so his fingers were starting to ache and sting...and naturally a coat wouldn't have hurt.

Still, he didn't want his uncle calling him a baby!

He contemplated the final spot-rubbing his fingers over the Moss Agate and sighing.

"Fond of it, hmm? Don't worry, it'll be safe here."

Alfred gently set it down-pressing it into the earth.

Alistair wiped his hands on his trousers and surveyed Alfred's word, "Good. Yeh made a circle. Albion made a kidney. Had to have him start over twice. He was about your age then, maybe a bit younger."

"Why here?"

Alistair frowned, "I told yeh-"

"No, I mean why this place?"

"Oh…" Alistair shrugged a shoulder "He was too little, I guess. Didn't want him crossin' Hadrian's Wall alone, the area between my land and his...then...was dangerous."

Alfred frowned, "Why?"

"I didn't bring ya out here for a history lesson on Picts and Britons."

"The who? Picks?"

" _Picts_."

His nose was just starting to run as he argued that Scotland was trying to trick him! Scotland was called Scotland because it had Scots! What the hell was a Pict?!

"No; it has to do with Eire. I ain't explainin' it without a map. Yeh'll just get more confused. Heh, I oughta really mess with you and talk about the Germans."

"What about 'em?" The hell did Prussia and Germany have to do with anything?

"Tribes from Scandinavia who came to our shores-"

"Those are-those-no-"

Alistair got a positively wicked grin, "For Arthur, things really got interesting by the time of the Heptarchy-"

Alfred felt his face get hot. Yeah...yeah, maybe he didn't know history too well but two could play at this game! He began loudly talking about the electronegativity of the Periodic Table. See?! He could be a jerkface-know-it-all too...given the right subject!

"Well ain't this the weirdest conversation I stepped into. And tha's a feat. Cuz once upon an ill-spent night of clubbing, I saw some bird converse with a toilet like a bosom-buddy," a woman with neon hair and a bright pair of galoshes contributed.

"EVA!" Alfred shot over and clung to her legs "Eva! You-you're-"

She quirked an eyebrow at the overly enthusiastic greeting, "Still alive. Yes."

Alfred released her and took a shy step back, "Y-yeah…but…?"

"Well _somebody_ hired me on for a night of extra help," She smiled as she ruffled his hair.

And now he knew why Arthur had taken so long escorting her to her apartment the other day.

"Did that somebody have big ol' eyebrows?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Ya know? I think...so."

"Did that somebody stand like this?" He spread his feet, crossed his arms, and lifted his nose in the air.

"He might've."

"Did that somebody obsess about tea?"

"Not then, but I _have_ heard him rant about tea before. Apparently, someone _else_ I know had a penchant of abusing the beverage. Quite blasphemous."

His cheeks started to hurt from smiling, "Well, I guess all that crosses off a _few_ people. Have ya seen everyone? They inherited the brows! Have you seen!?"

Eva choked on a laugh, "I...I saw a few."

Alfred nodded solemnly, "In a divine act of mercy from above…" he slapped a hand across his chest " _ **I**_ was spared."

Eva matched him and said very seriously; "He works in mysterious ways."

Alfred felt his mood soar and in a voice that was probably four times too loud announced: "We're Yul-ing today!"

"I know, poppet! Exciting!" She tickled him under the chin and he couldn't hold back a screech of laughter. "And that's why I'm here to help!"

Alistair stood awkwardly to the side, "I don't need any help."

"Ya know it's gonna rain, right?" She asked-looking up at the darkening sky "I can help make short work of-"

"No help needed. I already got help and a half. Tex and that one there. Maybe the cook-"

She put a hand on her hip, "Are you trying to banish me to the kitchen?"

He crossed his arms and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Because McDonald's wasn't a kitchen?"

"Don't listen to his lies Eva, he's just jealous. Haggis will never catch on commercially as well as the Golden Arches."

"Oi, they make haggis lollipops. It's catching."

"...Guess I'll have nightmares tonight."

Before the banter could resume, a cold breeze swept through and Alfred shuddered.

Eva's warm, larger hand took his and she began tugging him along back to the house, "You shouldn't be out and about without a coat, Alfie. Just look at your poor fingers."

They were sore and pink.

"You guys aren't cold," he complained.

Alistair was only wearing a turtleneck and jeans...and he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Eva was good with a sweatshirt and what looked like yoga pants.

Thunder rolled overhead and they barely dodged Reilley as he abruptly rushed past with a fire tarp for the clearing.

"Come on now, Alfie. Don't drag yer feet."

* * *

Arthur pressed the pedal down with his foot-accelerating the speed of the sewing machine. He was glad that Rhys was finally treating Alfred more kindly, but it did make him feel a twinge of rivalry.

He wasn't going to be outdone. Not on this day. Not after all the painstaking work he'd put into getting the child here.

Arthur was determined to best the sheep toy which was irritatingly well-made and symmetrical (Hop had been sewn before Arthur was a master and the resulting bunny was rather...sloppy in comparison).

But it would've been too obvious to compete with yet another toy. Alfred was collecting quite a menagerie of stuffed animals as it was.

No. He needed something grand. Thankfully, he figured out what it was after rummaging through sewing patterns and stored fabric.

He hummed the refrain of a wassailing song as he ran the edge of the garment through the machine to secure the lining.

Thankfully he had plenty of faux fur trimmings from a Renaissance project that he'd never found motivation to complete.

He'd also been delighted to finally make use of an enamel brooch depicting a rowan tree. It had been lying about unappreciated for years; a shame for it was a lovely piece of work.

With a critical eye, he looked over his work. If he'd thought of it a few days sooner, he would have embroidered it.

Oh well; perhaps he could at a later date.

He ran his hand along the inside of the garment-making sure for the upteenth time there were no lingering pins.

Gift giving had always been an important part of Yule, though the tradition was largely neglected by the Kirkland Brothers following their mother's death.

There'd been enough bitterness, exhaustion, and rivalry between them-that they'd unanimously agreed that a one night "truce" was the greatest gift they could afford one another and until the "United Kingdom" had been established-the four had only met sporadically through the years.

In short, Arthur fell out of practice. He paid occasional tributes when in the company of the Seelie or UnSeelie Courts. With his men he'd indulge them with spiced cider and mead. During the Great War, he'd pinned a small sprig of holly to his uniform.

The Yules he'd shared with a very young Alfred were always frugal; an oak tree to dance beneath, a soft though sturdy quilt to recline on, some honey cakes to nibble, a few gentle fairy guests, and a well-stoked fire.

When Alfred's Sight gave out, he'd rued his decision to deny the event more pomp.

The feeling worsened whenever he compared his other wards' experiences (lavish balls and concerts) with Alfred's meager colonial celebrations.

Sometimes Arthur couldn't help but think Alfred's tendencies towards gaudy decorations and absurdly large feasts was the result of Arthur's cheeseparing ways back then.

He wanted to show him this was important. That... _he_ was important.

If the...misunderstanding they'd had the other day was anything to go by...Alfred had real doubts concerning his place here.

And Mathieu wasn't helping. One minute, he'd be terribly concerned about his brother. The next, resentful! As Arthur finished his sewing project, he found himself worrying over whether Alfred would be bullied for it.

And it just seemed so unfair. The other children had enjoyed so many advantages over the years. Surely, Mathieu could see that? The best tutors...newly published books...expensive clothes and toys and all the elite opportunities Arthur could afford at the height of his power.

Arthur stared down at the fabric.

Why begrudge Alfred this? Alfred needed this. He needed reassurance that he was welcome and wanted and safe.

And Mathieu was smart! He no doubt knew and understood that...so why was he acting up? The lad was clearly seeking attention but...the motive behind it, was eluding Arthur. Mathieu had sped away before they could delve into the matter more fully. Perhaps tomorrow, he could set some time for the two of them. It seemed preposterous that he could be...jealous…

Mathieu had grown up at a rather leisurely pace and had yearned for adulthood. It seemed absurd that he could be longing for childhood days now.

No.

Perhaps, something was happening back home. Maybe he was upset over the falling oil prices and its effects on his economy and how the U.S. benefited as a result. That was enough to cause some hard feelings.

He carefully folded the gift and set it at the bottom of a velvet lined trunk. He then took it over to a linen closet and filled it with blankets.

Afterwards, he went about collecting cushions and sleeping bags that would soften a hard forest floor. He deposited all of his goods in the Marble Parlor-confident that the reputation of 'Lecture Hall Leviathan' would keep the items undisturbed.

He nodded in approval of the supplies Mr. Gray had gathered there as well.

It didn't look like the rain was going to let up anytime soon. If it did carry on through the night, they'd be prepared.

He watched rivulets of water run down the glass panes. There were already fears that this winter would bring floods throughout his land.

He shook his head. He couldn't afford to worry about that right now. If some of his cities DID have trouble, he'd have to do his best to address it then.

As he walked into the Drawing Room, he found his wards invested in an old repeat episode of Treasure Hunt.

He smiled at seeing them all cuddled up on the couches sharing blankets.

He blinked in surprise as he registered the far end of the room.

Arthur was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see Eva with Alfred sitting at the craft table with Wy.

Naturally, he was grateful she was keeping the boy out of trouble. But Arthur had hoped to build the moment into something greater. Alfred had been rather depressed about Eva's circumstances. It would've been a wonderful surprise to have had her reveal herself a bit later when he had everything in the clearing set.

And…

He eyed his watch.

He didn't give permission for the craft table, with its large plastic tablecloth, to be set up so early.

He'd intended it as a distraction for his youngest wards while the elders made themselves ready for their night out.

He walked over and paused at the end to pat Wy affectionately on the head.

"Painting," the little girl growled-her eyebrows scrunching together.

He glanced at the ocean scene she was creating with the water colors and felt a puff of pride at her talents, "And it's lovely, dear."

He didn't bother scolding her for her tone. He was still so relieved the micronation hadn't come to harm. She must've seen it in his face because she put up with two more pats and a soft "Thanks" before she wiggled away.

He did however hope her rendition of a storm wasn't an omen.

"Ooh, you are so good at this Alfie," Eva encouraged as she fiddled with a puzzle piece.

The child grinned and flushed "I...thanks...I…I just thought this was...a good one to do."

Arthur glanced at the box; it was a scene from _A Christmas Carol_.

"Hot Chocolates for the Artist and the Puzzler," Mr. Gray announced-setting down two mugs.

Other staff brought in refreshments for the others.

"Thank you, Mr. Gray," their young voices replied.

"You're very welcome. Now, Sir," Mr. Gray nodded at Arthur. "Forgive us, we were unable to find you-"

"No, no. Quite alright."

"Yeah," Alfred chirped-adding a "We missed you!"

"Yeah Artie," Eva grinned lazily. "Barely seen you at all."

Mr. Gray made an audible "hmph" of disapproval. His wrinkled hands reflexively fixing his cufflinks.

Arthur tried not to sigh.

Whenever he found one of his subjects possessed the Sight, he did his best to persuade them to join his household.

Standard procedure really. It ensured a safer, more understanding environment for them and an employer who could benefit from their natural skills.

Though...admittedly, this time there was a bit more opposition than usual. There'd been a heavy atmosphere when he introduced Eva to the existing staff.

A few hours had done little to ease matters.

Mr. Gray's eyes lingered on the woman's hair, drifted to her eyebrow piercing, and then down to the nose stud.

Eva's eyes hardened and her smile became tinged with insolence.

Oh dear…

"Hey Mr. Gray?" To Arthur's embarrassment, Alfred raised his hand like he was in class.

The elderly man tore his gaze away to settle fondly on the child, "Yes, young master?"

"Please be nice to Eva. She's my friend."

Good grief, "Alfred?!"

"Alfie?!"

"I just...you don't say 'Hi' to her and-"

"Alfred?!"

"She came to help me get away from the monsters that wanted to kill me and drag my dead body away to their court. But Eva, and Uncle Al, and Daddy came for me." Alfred turned huge blue eyes on the butler...that began to fill, "And she got _**fired**_ for it."

"Oh Alfie, you don't-I'm so sorry. I-I didn't put him up to that, I swear-"

Alfred's face turned sour, "Nobody puts me up to anything. I dig my heels in. I'm a powerhouse! I'm just saying...I'm saying I can vouch for her!"

"Alfred," Arthur replied tightly, "I appreciate your concern, but I am the Head of the Household here-"

"Yeah, but-"

"Alfred-"

"I know I just-"

"Alfred."

"I'm just trying to do what's right. Gray's good. Eva's good. You guys are on the same team! I-"

"Alfred. Wait for me outside the room, please."

Alfred glowered at him and then pushed his chair back with a loud screech.

He jumped down and with his hands on his hips, declared, "Fine! That's just...Fine." He stared down at the table.

"Tex! We gotta clear out."

"No," came a voice from under the table-startling them all, "Mexico's lookin' for me."

"Texxxx."

"No can do, Little Brother."

Alfred huffed and then kicked a foot at the table cloth, "...can I...come under?"

"Mi casa es su casa."

"That's a...yes?"

"Affirmative."

Alfred ducked beneath-leaving Arthur, Eva, and Mr. Gray staring.

"Don't know why you're surprised," Wy quipped as she made another brushstroke. "They're weirdos. They've been weird from the start. And Tex is the one who set up the table in the first place and-"

"Wy," Arthur warned. "That's quite enough."

Wy contented herself with dipping her paintbrush in a cup of water.

* * *

Alfred and Tex had played several rounds of War and Go Fish and were in the middle of the card game, Memory, when Arthur jerked the tablecloth up.

"Alfred. Out. Now. We need to talk."

Alfred sighed heavily, "Can't you yell at me from there?"

"Now."

"I want Tex as a witness and-"

"Al-"

"-emotional support."

Arthur ran a hand over his face and then reached said hand under-palm up,"Please?"

Alfred hesitantly slid his hand over it and let the older man help him out from under the Table-Fort.

They walked down the hall at a brisk pace.

"You aren't gonna fire her, are you?" Anxiety made his stomach flutter uncomfortably.

Arthur gave him a side glance, "She isn't hired, Alfred. Officially, she's here for tonight. That's all."

"But you ARE gonna hire her, right?"

Arthur was making them walk too fast and the stairs were becoming treacherous.

"It remains to be seen, whether her services will be welcome."

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

Another sharp tug and Alfred barely cleared the top. He barely swallowed the _'Please slow down'_ balancing on his tongue as they sped down the next hall.

"You wanted to be a part of the decision," Arthur stated sternly "And so you will be."

Well _**that**_ sounded friggin' ominous.

He started to pull back and Arthur's grip tightened.

His nerves only mounted as they approached the Englishman's study.

He shuddered and tried to move back, "..."

"What is it, now?" Arthur snapped.

Maybe it was the tone but memories of being disciplined came to life; lectures and belts and hard emerald eyes.

And the painfully tight hold on his wrist made the unhappy past between them rise like restless ghosts.

" _What is wrong with you, child?" Arthur gave him a shake. "Did I not say, do not wander numerous times? And scarcely a minute goes by and you go off again!"_

" _...s-sorry…"_

 _And he was sorry...now...very sorry indeed; his heart was in his throat while his stomach did tumbles. And Arthur seemed so big. It usually made him feel safe._

 _But now..._

" _Mathieu doesn't wander off. Or Olivia. Or Pippa. Just. You. And I told you," the man growled._

" _S-sorry."_

" _I tell you not to go in the street."_

" _I...know…"_

" _Then why were you there?!" Arthur demanded-boxing Alfred's right ear. "If I had not appeared when I did, you would've been trampled!"_

" _I only wanted..." to see that vendor...who was selling roses…and he'd already been told he could use his penny however he wanted..._

" _Answer me!"_

 _There was something hatefully demanding in that. Something that made every bit of him rise up in deliberate defiance. Because he wasn't a dog-to be ordered and kicked whenever he failed to live up to his "master's" expectations of him._

" _Because I wanted to cross the street,_ _ **when**_ _I wanted to!"_

 _And that was the truth. It was the truth. The truth which glittered like gold and tasted like blood when his other ear was struck and he bit his tongue by accident._

Arthur abruptly released his hand; his voice soft...almost hoarse, "N-nothing...nothing like that is...waiting for you here. I won't make excuses...I handled that badly then," his voice cracked. "I was made afraid by...I won't defend it-I-I only…"

Arthur's mouth moved wordlessly. He shook his head and without looking at him, he slowly pushed the door open.

Mr. Gray's back was facing them.

"I do apologize," Mr. Gray murmured "I...I just had you envisioned in a completely different role. But the fact of the matter remains; he has been accounted for...for the entirety of the day! It's perfect. The Winter Holiday doesn't usually involve us having one. The other two aren't wanderers. Never have to worry about them roving about-"

"He's just the adventuring type," Eva argued a bit defensively. "Nothing wrong with that. He gets it from his Dad. Artie sailed all over as an adult and I bet he was tromping all about when he was wee. He's got three brothers, we could ask and-oh hello there, love. We were just saying what a swashbuckler junior, you are. Isn't he, Artie?"

"..." Arthur had gone very pale and he sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers.

"Well, let's go on and ask the man of the hour," Eva gave a grin which Alfred weakly returned. Because it was good to see somebody happy.

"It took us a bit, but we got matters all sorted out. Though Arthur made us all agree you'd get final say."

"I think, it will greatly reduce the troubles we've experienced as of late," Mr. Gray added gently. "I feel so terrible at what you've endured thus far…"

Alfred glanced from face to face unsure of what he'd been dragged into.

Final say? In what?

Green eyes gazed at him steadily.

Sternly.

Unrepentantly.

Dread began to drip down...down...down...

"How does the arrangement sound, Alfie? For the rest of the holiday, I'll be your nanny!"

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the U.K. Potential Plus Program. Or Greensleeves.

 **Warning:** Profanity! Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Fluffy Mcfluff fluff.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! They've really helped buoy me up as I've suffered through midterms. School's been eating all my time and I'm recovering from the flu. But I'm looking forward to Halloween! If you're dressing for a party, work, or answering-the-door tell what you'll be in your reviews. I'll be a pirate ;P Argh, read up, me hearties.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! : DDDD

 **Chapter 46: So Clever.**

* * *

Outmaneuvered.

Alfred smiled in the face of Eva's obvious enthusiasm. He glanced away to gauge Mr. Gray's reaction. Whatever disapproval he'd had of Eva had melted away into some kind of relief. Alfred looked over to Arthur who was watching him back pensively from his desk.

Outflanked. It transported him back to the Battle of Long Island when British General Howe kicked his butt and they'd had no choice but to retreat or be annihilated.

He took steady breaths and numbly grinned and nodded as plans were confirmed and the humans left to alert the staff of the change.

Once Alfred and Arthur were alone in the office, he stiffly walked over to the door and closed it.

He took several deep breaths to try and soothe his temper before he stalked over to the desk.

Arthur wearily gestured to the seats across from his desk.

There were two seats; matching with plush leather on sturdy legs...but they were nowhere near as grand the chair behind the desk; with its high back, studded cushion, and carved arms.

No; the power was back there.

He abruptly went to stand beside Arthur's chair.

Arthur swiveled to face him.

Somewhere in the split second that their eyes met-Alfred felt a deep frustration; if he'd still been 5 '8'' and muscular...he could've loomed…

He could've loomed and grit his teeth and glared and Arthur would've done that deep-frown-lean-back move that he'd used a lot during WWII whenever they locked horns.

Except now everything about Alfred was physically different and it changed the dynamic.

There was no intimidating strength in his frame for him to use when Arthur overstepped his bounds.

He looked small and insignificant and ignorable and-

Arthur leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him.

"O Alfred," the man murmured quietly. "It was all I could think to do. She wanted to quit. Gray wanted to fire her. And you would've worried yourself sick about her-"

"So _I_ have to get thrown under the bus?!" Alfred contested-trying to pull free ecept Arthur latched on.

Dude, power of the sea! Geez, he was like a friggin' octopus!

Arthur continued, "Please, I know how much you needed her to be employed and I wanted-"

"There were a bazillion other jobs you could've made up! Secretary! Assistant! Food taster-You've had those before!"

His face grew hotter and hotter as his anger mounted-he could feel it. He could feel his hurt and irritation flitting through the cracks in his composure-like a breached dam.

"It's just for a short while," Arthur murmured "To help her through the holiday and...I...I do think it could...make things...safer."

Alfred growled at the attack on his autonomy.

"Alfred, please," he hoisted Alfred onto his lap and swiveled the chair back to the desk-pulling several spreadsheets that had been taped together near them.

It was some kind of mega chart with days, hours, locations, and...names. It had the roster of guest names. His eyes flitted over it as realization dawned.

Blue eyes widened.

The staff...kept...track of them.

He noticed that Sealand, Wy, and himself had their names highlighted.

The other two were painstakingly tracked: Drawing Room, Outside, Kitchen, Dining Room, Drawing Room...

"S-spying on us?! Well, what're they doing that for?! What the hell?"

Where was the privacy?

"Because their job is made more difficult when guests go unaccounted for. They need to know everyone's location for the sake of delivering meals or messages or-"

Alfred saw his own line in the spreadsheet was haphazardly recorded. Long empty spaces with question marks and a few penciled in suggestions. The only confidently printed portions were where meals occurred and when he went to bed.

Alfred stiffened as he thought about how Arthur often took it upon himself to tuck him in at night. How Arthur had converted his side room into a bedroom for him...

"So you see...It will be good. To-to have Eva with you. She'll be able to accompany-"

Alfred turned to look Arthur full in the face, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Green eyes held his gaze tiredly, "I'm simply trying to best meet everyone's needs. You made it abundantly clear that Eva-"

"Don't lie," he whispered-horrifically aware that he was at the center of a trap more deceptive than what Grym and that hag had set up. "Eva's got nothing to do with it. You've got some kinda plan goin' on, don't you?"

Arthur sighed, looked away, and pointed at the blank spaces, "...no one knows where you are over 70 percent of the time."

"So? I didn't know I had to check-in every time I used a toilet."

Arthur sighed and slid his finger along the page, "Those hours...that's when you met Grym, correct?"

So it all came back to that, didn't it? He screwed up. He screwed up big and Arthur wasn't gonna let him forget it.

He crossed his arms, "I made a mistake. I get it. You don't have to rub-"

Arthur continued, "That's when they made contact with you, isn't it? Whenever you were alone? That's how they work. Like in the stories, like in the workshop we gave you today. They depend on wanderers. In forests. In fields. They specifically target those who go off on their own and-"

"I thought you forgave me!" Alfred's voice cracked.

"Dammit, Alfred, I do," Arthur growled through his teeth. "I'm just trying to ensure it doesn't happen again."

"Then talk to _me_. Don't plan behind my back!"

"I gave you the final say in that arrangement," Arthur remarked sternly. "You could've declined-"

"O don't even! Like I could be the jerk that says no. And you knew that. You knew it. You always bitch about me being unpredictable in battle. It's cuz I have to be. I have to be, cuz the rest of the time, I'm pathetically predictable. Aren't I? Aren't I, Father? Being the good guy means there's certain principles I have to follow. Certain ends I have to get to. And you're able to plan all around it, huh? You run circles around me. You-"

Arthur rested his head against Alfred's.

Damn it. Alfred's mouth snapped shut. Damnitdamnitdamnit. He'd been figured out. Force never worked on him the way affection did. It was so easy to steel himself against violence. This...it wasn't fair to go after him like this...

" _ **Please**_. _**Please,**_ Sweet," Arthur murmured entreatingly. "Try to understand; They're preying on your sense of independence!" The arms tightened. "I want you to be happy. I do. I _**need**_ you to be safe."

"No!" Alfred used that moment to employ one of the breakaway techniques, Kiku had shown him ages ago. He abruptly slid down-dropping to the floor hard and then rolling away.

He ignored the "Oh!" of concern that escaped Arthur and raced across the room to the door.

He yanked it open, looked over his shoulder and glared, "You don't get to do that! I won't let you!"

"Alfred-"

"You don't get to use _**love**_ as justification for when you do something crappy!"

The office blurred.

"That's not fair. That's-that's," he started to sniffle. "That's you trying to control the game! That's you trying to rewrite the rules!"

"Alfred-"

"So you're never wrong!" He pointed an accusing finger. "So you'll never have to apologize!"

He slammed the door shut and sprinted away-ignoring the door's immediate opening and his name being called.

* * *

After deliberately wandering around and hiding for an hour….take that household staff! Alfred found himself back at the craft table.

Sealand, Wy, and Australia were making wreaths with supplies that were stacked on the table. Canada was reading a book nearby, but his eyes kept wandering over to the table.

It made him kind a hesitant to try one of the crafts. His brother tended to be more artsy than him and he didn't need any "constructive criticism" right now.

As he heard the other kids laugh at Jet's antics, he chewed his bottom lip. They looked so carefree and cheerful...it was kinda pissing him off, but he didn't want to sound like a jerk so he kept his mouth shut.

He fiddled with a roll of red ribbon and kicked his legs.

"Ouch!"

"Whoops," Alfred gasped. "Sorry bro."

"S'alright."

"Hey Tex?"

"Yup?"

He hesitated-unsure how to voice his feelings. He was upset with Arthur. That much was certain. The dude was totally out of line-making decisions like that without talking to him first.

He could already feel his face heating up again.

But could he say one hundred percent that Arthur's actions were malevolent?

They were annoying and heavy handed and patronizing but…

There'd been something desperate in his voice that made him uneasy.

" _ **Please**_ _._ _ **Please**_ _, Sweet, try to understand..."_

He frowned sullenly. Him first! Arthur needed to understand Alfred's side first! And then...maybe...he'd tried to see it from another view...

"There you are," Eva grinned as she took a seat beside him.

"Uh...h-hi." Keep a happy face. Keep a happy face. Keep a happy face.

"Have a nice tantrum?" Eva asked lightly.

He flushed and choked.

"Steady on. I'm a Mum, I can sense these things," she boasted.

"I just...I just...Idon'tneedababysitter!" he blurted out under his breath-so the other occupants of the table wouldn't overhear. The last thing he needed was for everyone (especially Sealand and Canada) to know England assigned him a nanny. All the ribbing he'd get for it…

"There. I said it," he grumbled-not wanting to look at her and see a crestfallen expression.

He stiffened as she snorted in amusement, "Good, cuz you're not a baby. I already survived that phase and the terrible twos, thank you. I'm in no rush to relive it."

"Huh?"

Eva smiled and shook her head. She rested an elbow on the table as she faced him, "Arthur must've thrown that at me twenty times."

"Huh?"

"That you've worked with the top minds of the medicine field, you read at a college level, that you're a NASA engineer-scientist-whatever, and that you're military trained for combat and all that rot."

He stared.

"You're one of those Potential Plus kids and for the next week or so, I'm a glorified upper shelf and cupboard opening operator."

"...he...he said all that stuff about me?"

It always seemed like Arthur was oblivious to all that. No matter how often the old man would set him up to talk with doctors and scientists and engineers through the 1800s, he'd never ask how the meetings went. He'd never defer to him on such subjects and they rarely came up in conversation.

He was always the idiot.

The Old World nations took comfort in that. And being underestimated was an advantage-even if, at times, it was an uncomfortable one to endure.

He couldn't tell if he felt relieved, flattered, or alarmed-that more of him was showing than he'd intended.

"I think there was a bit more, but I tuned it out so I wouldn't get intimidated," she gave him an easy smile.

"...oh..."

"Yeh, I think that battle we had at Maccy D's has made him a wee bit paranoid...ya know murderous monsters tryin' to kidnap his kid. Might've affected him."

Alfred shifted uneasily. Yeah...that and...the whole rescue from Osha and...the Wendigos and stuff…

Yeah, that could all...pile up on a guy…

But he still went about it all wrong!

Doing it that way was a mistake!

He stilled and bit his lip. Was there no room for mistakes?

He looked over to where a breeze was whistling through a window that had been patched up. There was still a large vine creeping through a bookcase nearby.

She pinched his cheek, "He just loves his munchkin."

He stared down at that white plastic table cloth.

"Yeah...I know…" he reached for some of the craft supplies.

Screw Canada's ever criticizing eyes!

America did what he wanted, when he wanted.

* * *

Arthur was feeling pretty miserable as he bid the children well wishes for their movie excursion. He smiled weakly as he took trips escorting them to the bus beneath his umbrella-two at a time.

Canada pointedly avoided his gaze as he marched through the door-refusing shelter from the rain. Arthur had sighed deeply as he watched the lad go out before tending to Sealand and Wy's raincoats-making sure they were all buttoned up and ready to go.

" _Why won't you consider me for this?" Violet eyes narrowed. "Haven't I proven myself?"_

Aren't you proud of me?

It wasn't spoken, but Arthur heard it.

He'd tried to pacify him, to reason with him, to assure him that he wasn't being ruthlessly neglected.

Yes, he remembered countless wars where he'd led and Mathieu supported him. Yes, he'd come to depend on the young man's steadfast nature.

Yes, he knew that left him with an enormous debt to repay. And loyalty was never a cheap commodity.

But he couldn't yield on this. Alfred needed this Yule to go off correctly. His magic was still dangerously low.

His vine-tantrum had exerted a lot of energy and Reilley had admitted late that morning that he no longer sensed him much at all.

Arthur did the only thing he could; he apologized and weathered the fallout.

He couldn't cede to Mathieu's wishes. He just...couldn't…

Not when Mathieu was so volatile. He could hurt his brother by design or accident. It just wasn't a risk, they could take.

But he understood the desperation fueling it.

He'd lost track of all the times Mathieu had injured himself trying to duplicate a maneuver he'd seen Alfred execute with ease.

It would always remind him of the time he'd wasted trying to mimic Alistair's fighting style. It was only after he'd realized that their frames were just too different, that he accepted that he needed a new technique and a lighter blade. That was the turning point.

Lightness of foot and sword, no longer meant weakness. No...it meant speed.

The boy needed to learn that you could only be yourself…

And if it was embraced...it was more than enough for any obstacle.

A hollow feeling crept in once all the children were aboard and he was back on the porch.

Wet drizzle blew under the umbrella as the wind became more violent.

He clenched the derby handle as he recalled the memory Alfred shared.

Damnation. He'd just been so terrified then. His little one standing in the middle of the goddamn road. He'd reacted horribly. He couldn't excuse it but...God...how do you make a child understand that kind of fear?

The sort that settles in your bones and stomach and bleeds into your brain at night to give you nightmares?

If he'd been a half-a-step slower…

If he'd continued talking with the merchant…

If he hadn't noticed the absence and walked the other way...

Arthur turned to a calamity unfolding behind him. Listlessly, he watched Reilley and Alistair push Antonio out the door.

"I can't leave yet. Tejas! He-"

"Dammit, Spain! You're gonna make us all late!" Southern Italy growled.

"Let the mocoso hitchhike," Mexico grumbled as she opened a carmine red umbrella.

It was testament to Antonio's stubbornness that he was able to stand his ground and hold onto the doorjamb even with Scotland wrestling him out onto the porch.

"I have him," Rhys announced clearly over the tussling. Rhys had the former Republic by the ear and was marching him over to his father.

"Goddamnedsnobbysonuvabitch."

"Here."

Antonio abruptly let go and Alistair barely caught himself from falling.

"Muchas gracias."

"I ain't a package to be delivered and-"

Arthur slipped past them and headed to the Drawing Room. Without the television competing with the cheerful murmuring of his wards, the whole house felt colder, sterner.

He sighed as a laugh track resounded.

He had a large task ahead of him: Make Yule A Success For Alfred.

His eyes settled on the golden head at work at the craft table and he cautiously approached.

He nearly jumped as Eva called, "Hey Artie! Pssst!"

She gestured to the small blond sitting beside her.

"No, don't look!" Alfred exploded. "I messed up. One's all bigger than the other. I should throw it away."

Arthur took a hesitant step forward and murmured, "I'm certain it's not so bad as to merit that."

Whatever it was.

Alfred tried to take a furtive glance at him, realized Arthur was watching him intently, frowned deeply, braced his hands against the table and pushed back-causing his chair to screech as it moved, "I...I'm still mad."

Arthur swallowed the correction 'angry' and frowned at Eva's snickering: "I think it's a family trait."

Perhaps, it was. Funny, how you didn't get to choose what traits you passed onto your offspring.

"But I...it's...like what you said at...y'know just cuz...you're...angry, it doesn't mean that I...you...less."

Alfred stared intently ahead.

And sometimes they excelled so far beyond you, it was hard to believe they were yours. What took you several centuries to accomplish they manage in one afternoon.

Arthur looked down at the table where several wreaths had been combined and reshaped into a slightly deformed knot of four hearts.

Warmth spread through him.

Alfred's face was very red and he wouldn't look at him.

Arthur knelt down beside the chair, "I love you so very much."

There was a sharp nod.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

There was a wavering breath and then another nod.

He carefully reached to pet the soft gold hair, "I _**am**_ sorry."

He was.

More than the child could know.

The boy's words earlier would haunt him for a long time.

" _That's you trying to control the game! That's you trying to rewrite the rules! So you're never wrong! So you'll never have to apologize!"_

He wasn't sure when their relationship stopped being a relationship to Alfred and became some cruel game. Some tip for tap competition between them. But now that he knew-now that he was getting a better idea of how he came across…

He'd left a hole when he'd bitterly distanced himself following their first war. And by the time the second war had ended…

And in the years that followed…

The hole was filled with the shadow of him. Packed in with the sharpest words, the meanest actions. Muck and barbed wire and broken glass...

" _I'm the one that's always watching, so I'm the one that knows you best."_

Like a camera left running...but it only recorded him at his worst.

By the time he re-entered-ready to take up his spot once more...there was something else standing there.

And it was disturbing to see his child cleave to that cold, sharp _**thing**_ instead of him.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred."

Please be patient Sweet, he thought desperately at the pale sad face watching him.

Arthur was going to demolish that monstrous caricature and rescue him!

It was fitting.

Many knightly tales were trials of character.

This one was his….another necessary chapter.

He was a proud man. He knew that. His enemies knew that. His government knew that. His family, and friends, and allies knew.

But he wasn't _**that**_ proud.

If pride was the only thing standing between him and happiness, it wasn't so terrible to bend.

"I'm so very sorry."

No doubt, his armor was rusted. His blade spotted and stained. The crest on his shield no longer gleaming and bright.

But the hope wouldn't go out.

He could still be a champion.

If Alfred still needed one...if he'd let him.

There was a taut silence and then Alfred awkwardly bent over the arm of the chair to bestow a tentative hug.

Arthur rose carefully so he could lift the child into a more secure embrace. As they moved away from the craft table and Eva's smug smile, he turned his back to her completely.

Yes. Even countries with centuries of caretaking under their belt could fuck up parenting.

He rubbed the child's back soothingly, "I should've consulted with you."

There was a violent nod that gave way to a shudder and then small arms clung tightly to him.

"There, there," he murmured-making all the right soft noises and croons to de-escalate the moment.

Communication.

All the self-help websites and books and pamphlets declared that "Communication" would their saving grace.

And while that meant great potential for vulnerability and humiliation and pain…

It was just like teaching Alfred to swim.

He had to wade out there first...show him it was safe...

* * *

Alfred sighed as Arthur fussed. The man was insistent that Alfred layer his clothing.

He stood in the entryway for yet another inspection. The first two times Arthur had complained he was going to freeze to death if he went out that way.

Alfred finally had to drag Eva with him to pick out the appropriate clothing.

" _You're a mom, too, right? What does he want from me?!"_

He now had a shirt, a turtleneck, a sweater, a light coat, and his fancy double-breasted long coat. Plus, gloves. Plus, a scarf. Plus, galoshes.

Arthur then packed Alfred's earmuffs, another sweater, a pair of slippers, and several pairs of socks into a Just-In-Case sack of supplies and grumbled that he needed to buy Alfred a warm hat.

"Can't believe I didn't think to purchase…Perhaps when go to the ballet...there will be boutiques nearby…" Arthur shook his head, "We're going out to the site a bit early."

Alfred waved to Eva, was leaning against the hallway wall, and reached for the door.

"Now wait. Just. Wait," Arthur commanded. "Patience, dear, let me get my umbrella. And you hold onto that lantern, won't you?"

The lantern was LED powered, but fashioned like a 1700s whale oil one. He liked the look of it a lot. Nice and familiar, but for some reason that made it almost embarrassing to hold.

It was probably for the best that they were going out alone-his uncles would've teased him terribly. Almost as soon as they were outside, Arthur had offered repeatedly to carry him, since the mud was slick and deep in places.

He'd refused and the alternative was having his hand tightly held as they made their way over.

He told him that Alistair had already shown him the way.

And even if he'd hadn't. The way was obvious.

There was short pole landscape lighting along the path and far up ahead there was a LED lantern that had been affixed to a tree leading into the forest.

He wriggled his fingers as a way to say, 'Hey, I need some freedom.'

He still wasn't completely satisfied with Arthur's apology. The old man just didn't seem to get how patronizing he could be…but he was genuinely remorseful that his actions had harmed him.

It was a start.

"I can walk by myself," he declared.

Arthur rebutted that it was nighttime now and very easy to lose one's way in the woods.

As they exchanged the house's stone path for a dirt one, he focused his sights on his trapped hand. He wriggled the fingers again.

He was gently reprimanded for letting his other hand swing the lantern carelessly instead of holding it up to light their way.

He did as bid and began a new argument against his father's hand until a good gust of wind walloped him just as he went over a really slippery patch of mud.

The strong-tight-father-hand kept him from falling and he shut up—ego wounded.

Arthur gently broke the silence by complaining about the weather.

"S'really dark," Alfred murmured as they entered the woods.

His hand was given a gentle squeeze, "Yule's set on the longest, darkest night of winter."

"Why?"

There was a smile in the voice, "You'll find out soon, pet."

There were long stretches of darkness broken by occasional LED lamps attached to trees….and he might've been just a teensy bit grateful that Arthur had given him his own lantern to hold onto.

It made things less horror movie-esque.

Arthur started humming _Greensleeves_ and the unsettled feeling melted away.

Alfred swung their arms and was about to take a guess at what Yule was s'posed to be when he noticed the flickering of firelight. Only it was kinda blocked off. There was some kinda tent?

He made to charge towards it and Arthur laughed, "It's still going to be there, if we walk."

It turned out to be a large fancy circular pavilion.

Arthur released him as they drew near and Alfred sped over to it.

Red and white striped. His fingers hesitatingly touched the canvas, "Red and white...for...England…"

"That's right, love."

His eyes roved over the rectangular block scalloping that trimmed the top. The design flair that just screamed "MEDIEVAL!"

And the corners of his lips began to pull his mouth into a smile.

He looked at the entrance flaps which were tied elegantly open to bronze poles with large tassels.

Like he'd wandered straight into one of those knight's tales.

He peered inside at the center pole and high up on it a hub with spindles spread out like the rods of one of Japan's oriental umbrellas.

And all the inside had been done up with carefully draped loops of white battery powered strings of lights.

"Galoshes off before you go in," Arthur instructed.

Dumb with awe he sat down on Arthur's log and fingered the lantern, "I thought you didn't like the tents…"

"These tents are an outdoor treat," Arthur explained as he gently whisked the lantern away and turned it off.

"You use 'em for fairs and stuff?"

"Mmhmm."

"Tex and I can make a good teepee!" It seemed like it was essential to say he could do something neat too. He glanced up at the awning that stretched out over Arthur's bench so the rain couldn't get them.

There was a tarp for the fire too, but this one…

This was so they could be back here, warm and dry and not have to inhale too much smoke. And there was a tarp that had been had been carefully staked down in front of the tent. So that they wouldn't be tripping about in mud.

It ran under the log...so Arthur had to have lifted it. It reminded him that his dad had more brute strength in him than he liked to show.

It was kinda comforting.

Arthur smiled, "Can you, now? Well, you'll have to show me some time."

"Do you dance at the fairs?"

Arthur chuckled, "I've been known to dance a carol or two."

"Tex and me. Tex and I," he blurted hurriedly, earnestly. "We're real good-we-we're...we're really-we're very good at hoedowns? You ever been to…a harvest dance?"

"Perhaps we can do that next Thanksgiving."

"Oh...that'd be nice...but...I dunno if I could do both on the same day. That'd be a lot for me to undertake..."

"I think with planning and delegating; it could be arranged."

Alfred shrugged, "I dunno...it's a lot to ask people."

"Why is that?"

"W-well, ya know…"

He accepted the soft, clean slippers Arthur had packed. He watched the man swap out his own muddy shoes for clean slippers and set the dirtied ones over on the side.

Alfred stared at their shoes-standing side by side, "Well ya know...people value their time and it's a lot to ask them to give it up...just for you…just to work on their time off..."

"Labors of Love aren't work."

The campfire warming his back was making him hot and hearing that…

He was sure his face was beet red.

Arthur gestured for him to go in.

Two large, rubber air mattress had been fitted inside-latched together with just a little room for the center pole to come through. Set just so, with fur throws, and pillows, and quilts heaped over it; like a mound of luxury, a plush little island untouched by the storm.

He couldn't help himself. He giggled as he stepped inside...it was like a bounce house. He gave a small, experimental jump and laughed harder.

And the lights overheard twinkled and sparkled.

He flopped down and rubbed his face against the faux fur. He pulled his gloves off and shoved them in his pocket and spread his fingers against the furry softness.

Trust Arthur to celebrate in style!

He rubbed his face against the material.

It came softly...a memory of fur blankets... _real_ furs.

 _Arthur sat beside him with a large book-fancy and nice with sheepskin pages decorated in lustrous illustrations._

For a moment the memory stuttered-wanting to shift into something safer, more solemn. Geography lessons. Grammar lessons. Legislation that made resentment bubble and hiss.

He shook his head. Fur blankets, he reminded himself.

They were soft on the hard stone floor with more cushion than the thin carpet rolled out before the great stone fireplace.

 _Arthur stretched and pulled his stockings off-scrunching pink toes that were just like Alfred's._

 _A very small Alfred immediately set his feet for comparison. Barefoot to barefoot-the bottoms pressing together._

 _Alfred nodded as he contemplated. He'd seen governors and other important people in Daddy's office do that at they thought things over._

" _Yer feet...are big" the toddler nation observed, as if it was a profound thing._

" _My feet are big, hm?" Arthur echoed, amused. "O that's what I long to hear. Tha's a compliment, that is."_

 _He reached down as if to touch his toes and then snatched the little feet instead._

" _Such a flatterer," he crowed as he ruthlessly tickled the soft arches._

 _Alfred shrieked under the attack and squirmed as he was easily maneuvered into cradling arms. He laughed and squealed as kisses rained down on his cheeks and raspberries were blown against his ticklish neck._

"Thank you for tending to the fire, Rhys," Arthur remarked.

Alfred sat up, disturbed that (in his wonder) he hadn't noticed his uncle at all. The dude pulled a Canada on him!

He crawled over to the tent's entrance and saw across the way: Rhys, sitting on his side of the clearing against an oak tree.

No blankets. No tarp. Just him in a raincoat.

Arthur removed his wet outer coat and laid it against one side of the log. He ruffled Alfred's hair and moved to help Alfred take off his own damp coat.

"We don't want to drip everywhere, do we, Love?"

"Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"Can't...can't he come, too?"

Arthur blinked, "Er…"

He glanced over his shoulder and got a little flustered, "Well...we usually each keep to our own side…This one's mine. That one's his."

"I don't even have a side. I'd probably be out there" Alfred thrust a finger to where rain was dripping off the tent into a deep puddle.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're my child, you belong here with me."

"...yeah...I guess...but...he's your brother..."

* * *

England's eyebrows twitched.

Wankers.

The lot of them.

"Lazy berks," he growled. "Any one of you could've outfitted your side…"

Reilley made to shove him but Rhys held him fast.

Upon reaching the clearing, both redheads had promptly demanded entrance into his tent.

Only Rhys had the good sense to be embarrassed; a child's sense of charity was what had granted him a space in here.

Arthur met their glares with a venomous one of his own.

"Didn't know you were gonna put on airs and drag all this stuff outta storage and-" Reilley groused.

He scowled. Git. This was for Alfred!

"You mean, you don't do this every year?" Alfred demanded as he bounced over and crawled onto Arthur's lap.

Arthur blanched and avoided his brothers' accusing stares, "N-no, Sweet. I just…I wanted your Yule to be special."

The little mouth made an 'o' of surprise, "…For me? You did this all for me?"

"W-well of course. God, you've had such a rough time of it. This whole year has been…Of course I wanted to do something nice."

He went very still and stiff.

Arthur's stomach flopped nervously.

Blue eyes stared fervently around the tents.

"For…me…"

His eyes flit about.

"A-alfred?" he murmured—worried that he'd somehow caused a panic attack.

Arthur nearly choked as a pair of little arms clamped around his neck like a vice and the child bounced energetically.

"IloveitIloveitIloveit!"

The arms relaxed as Alfred drew back to look at him.

Arthur felt his face warm at the pure, childish joy before him.

In that moment, it seemed like all the sadness had gone out of Alfred and he glowed.

His little face was pink and happy and delighted and Arthur wanted it to stay that way.

"It was such a good idea! The tent and the furs and the lights and-EVERYTHING!" Alfred gushed and then he looked over his shoulder. He pointed and laughed, "And none of the rest of you thought of it!"

Yes. That was the sum of it.

O tact, it had never been Alfred's forte.

He gently reached for the child's hand and clasped it in his own to lower it.

Reilley was spluttering incoherently and Alistair's eyes had narrowed. Rhys nodded in glum agreement.

It'd be best to walk the child back from such boastful statements. It was comments like that which always got him into trouble at meetings.

"So much awesomeness!" Alfred added, as much in admiration of experiencing the comfort the idea produced, as of it being unique and new. Alfred loved innovative ideas. Always. But he adored the ones that nobody else thought up.

Still, it wouldn't do for Alfred to get on his uncles' bad sides so early in the evening.

Blue eyes shone up at him bright with excitement and he tugged at Arthur's shirt, "Father! Father! Daddy!"

"Yes, Darlingheart?"

"You're _**so**_ clever!"

Arthur paused.

For a moment he simply stared-searching those sky blue eyes for some trace of sarcasm.

There wasn't...

There…wasn't…

Good God! It'd been ages since he heard that!

His brothers and their intellectual insecurity could bugger off!

Alfred giggled.

He chuckled.

Arthur happily nuzzled their noses…and ignored the ominous, indignant twitching of thick eyebrows around them.

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDD


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or this line from John Steinbeck's novel: _The Grapes of Wrath:_ " _A fallow field is a sin and the unused land a crime against the thin children."_ Or Allhallows College.

 **Warning:** Some off screen violence! Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Deohaku: the Three Sisters in Iroquois Mythology : D Buffalo Bill's Show was a BIG hit in England in the 1880s. XYZ Affair in 1797-8: French diplomats demanded bribes before doing business with the young US of A. Americans were shocked and appalled and warmongering to attack France for the insult began. When France learned the Americans were outraged, they immediately sought to smooth the ruffled feathers. Acts of Union between Wales and England-uniting them in the 1500s-gave Welsh citizens equal rights with English subjects (while it's been argued in contemporary debates that it infringed on Welsh identity-it did result in fairer treatment under the law). Dust Bowl. Potato Famine. Oak trees. Yule Logs. Yet more 1812 references: aka: How the Royal Navy royally pissed off the US. Impressment, ship/ship cargo seizures. British (and French) attacks on American merchant ships despite US neutrality. Family Drama...to the max! To the max!

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews and all the well wishes! I'm glad everybody got out there for some Halloween Fun! I'm all better now and fired up. I managed to carve out some time to make this chap! I swear though, it's like my professors all conspired with each other. I literally have had an exam/paper/midterm each week. I'm still not home free XD. Instead of just having one week of hell on earth-it's all been spread out. So the misery is lasting like a bandaid being slooooowly removed. And with that happy image in mind, I hope you enjoy! XDDD

 **Chapter 47: Nothing Happened**

* * *

Arthur drew back and smiled at the intensely happy blue eyed gaze.

It sent him back; to flowering fields where his hand was tightly held as they raced to seek treasure, to lumpy straw filled beds that he was constantly refilling because his child loved to get a running start and leap onto them, to happy declarations while they read stories in their rocking chair...

That Arthur was the cleverest, the best, the greatest...

" _You used to be so great…"_

The pain of losing that title...of falling from his pedestal…

Of realizing centuries later (nearly too late)….that their criteria of what "Greatness" entailed had been different and no amount of battle prowess and conquest...

He had simply stopped being "Great"...

" _Father! Father! Daddy!...You're_ _ **so clever**_ _."_

...and started again.

He gently brushed the boy's fringe out of his eyes.

Too long.

It'd been too long since he'd seen it; real gladness, not that manufactured plastic smile. He'd worn a horrible one in the office earlier. It had been painful to look at.

Arthur flopped backward onto the soft cushions and got a giggle for his efforts.

"I...I love it...you didn't have to ya know…" And the sparkle in those blue eyes began to dim.

Alfred's smile trembled about his lips like he was suddenly aware that grinning unabashedly was uncouth and exploitable when it had tender, sentimental roots. He was trying to tame it.

Years of being upbraided for obnoxious enthusiasm began to settle over him like a pall. Arthur scrambled to shove it off.

He tickled the pale little neck and was rewarded with shrill laughter and another hug.

The upturned face betrayed an adorable blush and then the face buried itself against his collar.

"Geez...I'm just...I'm all embarrassed," Alfred said breathlessly.

Arthur chuckled as he stroked soft hair, "Why?"

"Geez...all for me...and.." he wondered aloud dreamily. "I haven't even done anything..."

"...Hm?"

"...gonna _spoil_ me...treating me all nice and special when I haven't even done anything-"

Arthur's hand faltered, "Wot?"

What was this about? He'd done a lot:

Coming here in spite of all the horrible misunderstandings between them. Coming over even when he felt out of place in a household that had changed tremendously in his absence. Learning magic from intimidatingly older mentors. Enduring the heinous schemes of a bodoach. Giving Arthur more chances than he likely deserved to redeem himself. Struggling with a wealth of hardships and never quite surrendering hope...

"Getting the MVP treatment when I'm not even...I mean, I just showed up. All I'm doing is just sitting here-"

"Oi," he gently flicked Alfred's ear. "Listen to me. You've been _**very**_ brave-"

"-Not making me work...just giving...better-better watch out I'm gonna have a precedent and expect this each-it'll be your own fault-spoiling-"

Arthur frowned, "If by spoiling you...you mean seeking ways to orchestrate your happiness, then you're damn right I'm going to spoil you!"

England winced. Not the most eloquent way to convey that. He mourned for the now absent smile.

Alfred's eyes drifted downward and he mumbled "Shouldn't say that sorta…"

"If you like it, we can set it up this way each-"

"-Shouldn't-"

"Can be our new tradition."

"..."

"Would you like that?"

It took a lot not to tilt the child's chin up. Alfred hated to be forced, to be coerced, to be manhandled.

Had to be patient. Had to wait. Had to give room for Alfred's free spirit before he could reach out to his heart. Accommodation was key.

Eventually the blue eyes looked back up and there was a very shy nod.

Arthur felt his lips curl into a gentle smile. He gave the small body an affectionate squeeze. He leant down to the little ear, "Now...I seem to recall someone telling me about, what was it? Potential Energy? It might just be sitting there now but it's quite capable of great things. It's just stored up. Books are that way. Seeds are too." He reached into his pocket. "You'll need to plant this tonight."

Alfred took the small object and studied it a bit dubiously, "An acorn?"

"Oak trees are quite important to us."

A pained expressed crossed Alfred's face and he blurted, "Our tree died. Got sick. Rotted. I couldn't save it."

The news sent a surprisingly sharp sting through him as he recalled all the happiest memories they'd spent under it.

"-And-and-and it's gone now. Poof! Nobody even remembers now. Like it was never there. Like it never existed-"

Whatever pain he'd felt abruptly left because someone else had been carrying it longer...quietly...privately...

Resolve flooded him.

"We'll plant a new one," Arthur said simply.

"I dunno. They keep building stuff and I dunno if the area's contaminat-"

"Then we'll find a new place. Perhaps your garden at Kirkland Hall? It would need a lot of space though and well associated plants to live near or under it."

"Yeah...maybe. It's just rough cuz people act like the tree didn't matter. And since it's not there now, it's like it never happened."

A basement crowded with outdated junk; an old piano with missing ivory teeth, trunks with rotting clothing, barrels with unforgotten letters…

Smudged letters that said:

 _Stay safe my darlingheart. All of my love, your father._

Proof of the past…

That it existed. That it wasn't imagined. That he hadn't been gaslighted.

"It happened," Arthur assured-feeling a deep swell of compassion. "I remember it."

The past could be a heavy thing to drag alone, but another person could help with the load.

"It was a good tree," the child remarked solemnly.

"Yes."

"It was older than me."

"Mmhmm."

"Losing it makes me feel old."

"You?" Arthur smiled wryly. "You! Ha!" He ruffled the golden hair. "Haven't even hit your first millennia! Not even halfway there. Every tree ringing our little camp site is older than you, love. And we've already replanted them all at least once."

Wide eyes stared at him and then the brows furrowed, "Why doesn't your side have one, then?"

"Oh lightning took it four no-no-no five? Henry VIII was ruling and...oh...I think Allhallows College was just established-Latin was still rather...Five centuries? Yes. Yes, five centuries ago."

Alfred frowned at the acorn lying innocently in his palm, "Oaks grow so slow though…it'll be a long time before-"

Arthur tapped the boy's nose impishly, "Indeed, but we have time. Don't we?"

It was a subtle promise of forever. He'd be more forthright about it when Alfred felt more secure. Right now, he was still timid. Being too domineering would give the sensation of a trap being sprung.

Alfred flopped himself down.

"Oomph!" Arthur stifled a swear as the child landed hard on top of him.

The little hand holding the acorn, tapped it against Arthur's shoulder, "I had to take down a lot of trees to test my cannons out there. Earlier, I didn't feel bad removing the ones closest to the house-cuz they could fall...but further out...later...when I wanted to test the cannons, those ones...it was sad to kill those ones. Even though I was able to use the wood..."

Kirkland Hall...the child was usually very careful NOT to mention its past.

"Earlier" must've meant when he still thought he could present it. "Later" being after he'd thought their relation too strained for it to serve its purpose as a home.

Arthur felt a good deal of satisfaction having that tidbit of information (regardless of how small) confided in him.

"Next fall," Arthur ventured "We'll take a basket and gather some acorns. Test them in water (we won't want the floating ones) and this spring...if you like, we could visit some nurseries and find sturdy saplings."

"I don't have much of a garden at my house either. Not since...it takes time but...I guess I'll have time...I...I want a willow again."

"That would be lovely."

"Maybe...there...there could be a pond too. You like ponds, right?"

It was an awfully sweet gesture.

"They're _**your**_ gardens, they should have what _**you**_ love best."

It was the right answer and Alfred snuggled into him.

Pleased with himself and the progress he was making with his child, it took him a while to become aware that his brothers were still in the tent...and scandalized by the open affection they'd witnessed.

Contentedness and amusement kept a smile on his lips as he regarded them:

Reilley's eyebrows were twitching-his mouth agape as if he'd witnessed a trainwreck and was still processing the carnage.

Rhys was rather pink and hurriedly tried to look away-realized that left him dumbly looking at the tent's center pole and then slowly shifted his gaze back.

Still smiling, he turned to Alistair whose eyes narrowed.

The hard look on the Scotsman's face sobered him and he frowned back, "Did you remember the food?"

Alistair jerked a thumb towards the outside where several large ice boxes he'd lugged over in a wagon of supplies were sitting.

"Well? Start, setting it up," Arthur barked. "Or we'll be here all night."

"Oh yes, your majesty. Let me get right on that while you play 'Happy Family' over-"

Alfred's blond head perked up.

"I love camping food! What have we got?" Alfred demanded. "Is there coffee? If we drink it out of tin cans it'll be like my cattle driving days! Ya know? But less scary cuz there's no rustlers. And warmer cuz my clothes are good!"

Arthur winced at the idea of Alfred freezing half to death in rags as he watched for horse thieves.

Deep down he'd known the Wild West wasn't half as glamorous as Buffalo Bill's Show would lead one to believe.

"What've we got?"

There was too much enthusiasm in the blue eyes for Alistair to remain completely sullen. He sighed, "Boar."

"Real boar?"

"Nah, spam boar. Course I got real boar," he snapped-pointing at the red ice box. "Though I didn't hunt it...which'll make it not taste quite as...I mean if I'd known we were being all fancy-I mean, since he's reintroduced the boars in the wild-I mean, technically, I could've gone out and-"

"I haven't had this in years!" Alfred tossed in.

"Well, yeh'll have plenty tonight," Alistair muttered subdued as his anger faded.

Arthur uneasily sat up-one hand resting on his son's head reassuringly.

Grief always made Alistair so damned volatile. He'd have to keep a close watch on him. He wouldn't let him vent his frustrations on Alfred.

Reilley peered into the green box and made a face, "Corn? Squash? Arthur, what did we pack this stuff fer?"

Arthur stiffened. He'd packed them for Alfred. His research asserted that they were important foods in Iroquoian culture.

Alfred padded over to his uncle, "Are there beans?"

"Uh…" he blinked at his nephew's intense stare. "Yeah?"

"YES!"

Reilley frowned, "We're warriors. We eat boar. The boar's a symbol of warrior-strength-"

"And corn, beans, and squash means family!" Alfred added. "It'll work perfect! Cuz we're all warriors _aaaand_ we're family!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Deohako!" Alfred cried jubilantly. "The sisters: corn, beans, and squash. You can plant them all together cuz they're family! And they help each other grow."

Alfred missed the uncomfortable looks that statement brought.

Arthur ran a hand along a pillow's fringed trim. Alfred didn't know it but…

While he and his brothers made a point to try and participate in Yule together when they could…because Mother would've wanted it that way...it was just...

Yes, they were family but...it'd been a very long time since they'd celebrated _as a family_.

Alfred's smile was infectious as he rolled up his sleeves and looked at Arthur, "How do you want me to cook 'em?"

"A-anyway you think is best."

"If there's a pot, oil, and some water, I can make stew!"

Alfred happily sat down at the side of the front entrance so he wouldn't make a mess. He peeled the husks off and rubbed the strings of hair out. He used a spare bucket to collect the waste.

Arthur gently draped a blanket over his shoulder.

It was Alfred's cheerful industry that sent his uncles to work; it hurt a man's pride to be outdone by a boy. Alfred seldom seemed to register that though.

Alistair and Reilley began dividing up meat to roast.

Rhys began gathering ingredients for his hot apple cider.

Arthur observed it all with quiet astonishment.

To be honest, when he'd planned out the celebration, he hadn't really thought he'd persuade them into helping.

Alistair had very begrudgingly accepted his task to order meat for it. Rhys had stared at him flatly when he asked for his cider recipe; _"You'll burn it."_ Reilley had been sceptical when he asked him to arrange a music playlist of celtic songs from all four of their regions, " _Bossy idgit, don't yeh have Youtube?"_

Arthur had been fully prepared to struggle through the tradition-burning and botching little things here and there. He'd been hopeful that if he could create a good enough ambience it could offset the little hiccups; the crunchy ends of blackened meat, the doughiness of under done caraway cakes, the sharp toothed estrangement that history made between family members...

"Oi," Reilley kicked his satchel towards him. "Don't jus' stand there, ya git. CD's inside."

Arthur carried it over to the stereo, ignoring Alfred's snickers: " _CDs_...dudes, it's the Age of Ipods," and soon the sounds of harps and fiddles and drums filled the air.

Arthur set out plates and mugs checked his phone app for the position of the moon since it was dark and cloudy. Still plenty of time.

Unfortunately, since his brothers had taken over the preparations, it left him uncomfortably idle. His brothers would soon find him a good target of scorn.

"You...you can help me," Alfred offered softly. "Once I'm done shucking, I gotta have the kernels off the cob."

It was a large concession for an independent spirit-to let Arthur wield the knife for the task and content himself with the spoon.

"You're good," Alfred noted a bit enviously as Arthur made short work of the corn.

Arthur smiled as he brushed kernels off the blade and into a bowl.

He was _very good_ with a knife.

"I'm good at throwing them," Alfred announced as he poured some oil into the pot.

"I saw."

The child blinked and then smirked and sat a little straighter…a little prouder.

Problems arose when Alfred needed the fire. He dashed out while Arthur hunted down their shoes.

"I need to warm the oil before I can add the stuff in," he repeated for the upteenth time as his uncles bustled around staking large slabs of meat near the flames and setting a kettle up. "Make room! If this is gonna be a good appetizer I gotta start now. I need to warm the oil! Move!"

"Sweet,"Arthur called as he set the bowl back down. "We can wait. They'll finish up soon and then we can-"

"But!" Alfred's cheeks puffed "No" and he rushed back into the thick of it...at the worst possible moment.

He slammed into the back of Alistair's leg and nearly sent the Scotsman into the fire-Rhys and Reilley barely managed to pull him back before he took a scorching.

Furious, he turned and grabbed Alfred by the scruff of his neck and shook him, "A chreutair dhamaite! Don't be underfoot _Albion_!"

* * *

Rhys shook the bottle of Tums until he had a good handfull. He methodically chewed the chalky tablets as Alfred mumbled, "I...I need more oil to start over."

The child gripped the handle of the pot like a toy-letting his sock clad feet kick its bottom gently.

Arthur ignored the request-choosing to focus more on his current task: pressing a wet rag wrapped around a ziplock bag of ice against Alfred's neck.

He ignored the request as it came a second and third time along with the soft reassurance: "M'okay, Dad. He didn't hurt me. I just...got a little surprised, that's all."

Arthur didn't respond but his erratic angry breathing (which hissed between his teeth as he exhaled) betrayed his thoughts.

As he held the rag down with one hand, he used the other to mop distractedly at his split lip. Blood stained the back of that hand.

"I'm okay," Alfred insisted. "If you wanna deal with that now. I mean, I'm not even bleeding so..."

"Jaysus," Reilley breathed as he sat down beside Rhys-pulling out a flask from his inside pocket. He offered a sip which Rhys seriously considered before shaking his head 'No.'

"Sweet Mary Mother of God. I jus' wow. Remember when us and Mathieu were hunting and that bull moose charged and-wow. The moose won tonight."

Rhys glared, "Cau dy geg."

"Not a chance. C'mon, he said he was sorry. And that was a hell of a Freudian slip. C'mon, he actually used 'sorry' to yeh both. Everyone can't still be pipin'-"

A venomous green glare turned their way.

Reilley flinched a bit, took a deep gulp of his flask, and then grinned again, "He's grabbing the big, fancy First Aid and some Scotch and the night'll go on. He's acting normal again. And now we know. You figgered it out Artie, we know now that when he's in one of those foul moods, we just gotta beat it outta him. We know that fer next year. In the time leading up, I can box with him. Rhys can still put up a fair round of collar-and-elbow wrestlin' and if all else fails there's you. That was a brilliant tackle by the way. Clean off his feet. He's heavy. Tha's hard to do."

Rhys watched his blond brother tenderly prod at the child's neck.

"I'm okay, I just got shook up."

Arthur's lips were pressed hard together in a grim line.

"Hey Rhys?" the boy called.

The Welshman hastily turned to better regard his nephew, "Yes?"

"How'd I do on that test?"

It was a blatant attempt to move them all along. He appreciated it but he'd been hoping to discuss it tomorrow instead. Still, in lieu of what had just transpired...any topic was a godsend. Unfortunately, his silence bred suspicion.

"...I failed…" The boy breathed.

"What!? No. No, you did very well. Nine out of ten," Rhys informed him.

"Good job, Sweet," Arthur complimented as he took a new ice bag to rest on his own face.

"...missed one" Alfred grumbled. "How did Canada do? No wait, lemme guess, perfect score."

Rhys looked away slightly...Yes. Mathieu did get them all correct. However, it was Texas who'd failed miserably with only three correct answers.

"It's...actually the one I marked down. It was...only partially correct. You identified the creature and it's habitat correctly, but you added that they grant wishes. They don't."

Alfred blinked and frowned, "I...I guess I just...messed up..."

"My intention isn't to embarrass you," Rhys offered swiftly as much for Arthur's sake as for Alfred's. Green eyes were giving him a hard look over, "I'm mentioning this simply because it's important to keep them all separate. And expecting certain benevolent actions from a creature that doesn't grant them, can be dangerous. There are, however, a good deal of fae that do grant wishes...according to the scale of what's within their power to grant. That's another very important element."

Alfred's cheek puffed sullenly.

Rhys sighed. It was a shame that he'd had to impart unhappy news to Alfred after the boy had been charitable enough to forgive Alistair his violence, attempt to calm Arthur with normalcy, and...persuade Arthur to share his tent with his...least favorite uncle.

His eyes flitted about it and he frowned. Rhys just hadn't thought to make use of their Medieval and Renaissance supplies!

Come Beltane's Day, he'd be prepared...and his tent would have dragons. Lots of dragons.

Children loved dragons. And perhaps...if he brought a small, harmless one...he'd improve his standing.

Reilley was entertaining with his turns of phrase, and his easy expressions, and his openness in relating misadventures.

Alistair got away with far more than he ought to because Alfred found him so impressive. He had a brutish build; he was every bit as strong and fierce as he looked. While it intimidated most children, Alfred always admired it who likened him to the knight stories he obsessed over. Still, behaving as he had-venting old festering vexations he still had about Albion on America...and the boy easily forgiving him...

Rhys accepted his current lot as dead last as the result of their skirmish in 1812 and years of cold estrangement.

It was too late to feel frustration over it.

But it did sometimes feel like he was working against a greater disadvantage. They could all make physical contact without fears of repercussion-of feeling too much to the detriment of all.

They didn't have to build up resistance, use it, retreat, build it back up, and move in once more.

They could dance and spar and-

He watched Arthur smooth the boy's hair.

"Rhys is right," Arthur murmured. "Wishes can be fickle. Vague ones. Great ones. Ones granted by wicked creatures-"

"Monkey's paw," Alfred sighed-drawing the "paw" out.

Both men chuckled.

"Still, if you do a great enough service," Alfred argued, "Any creature can grant you a wish. They just don't like doing it."

Arthur and Rhys shared a sharp look. They turned to Reilley who shrugged.

They looked at the trees leading back to the house.

"Naw, Alis wouldn't," Reilley objected.

No. No. He wouldn't.

"Where did you hear that, Love?"

The child sighed and pulled the makeshift ice pack off, "I dunno, I just know. Can I cook now?"

Arthur reluctantly let him go and finally applied his medical attentions to himself.

"Now you see…" Reilley began after Alfred was out of earshot. "Tha's why I'm more than a wee bit hesitant for us to train him up."

Rhys blinked in surprise. His magic was terribly low if he'd missed Reilley's attitude towards Alfred's education changing so profoundly. Not so long ago he'd been delighted at the prospect.

"I know you got your heart set on it Arthur, but hear me. He's a magnet for trouble."

Rhys's brows furrowed.

"He knows enough to be dangerous as he is without givin' him more."

Hazel eyes narrowed.

"Ya saw the vines and him makin' nice with goblins and-and-"

Arthur's mouth snapped open to argue.

Rhys beat him to it, "Nearly all of Alfred's magic mishaps have resulted from ignorance and desperation. A man alone, threatened and backed in a corner, will do absurd things. Actions a calm man would never think of pursuing. And that's a man. Grown. Rational. We've all been that man at one time or another. Each one of us here. This is a child. All the magic that he's sought has been for defense. If that isn't clear, then perhaps _**you're**_ the one in greater need of proper training."

Cowed, Reilley backed off, "Think I'll sit on the other side of the tent. Christ, Arthur. Could've come after me yerself instead of siccing Rhys on me. Rhys...goin' all Acts of Union and throwin' your lot in with-hmph!"

Arthur continued tending to himself.

From his spot near the entrance, Rhys kept a weather eye on Alfred to see if he was struggling at all. Alfred had to stand on his toes to hang the pot over the fire and both Rhys and Arthur were a bit uneasy on how far he had to lean to stir the stew.

"My my, haven't we come a long way?" Arthur replied acidly; his eyes focused on Alfred but his words meant for Rhys. "On my side now, hm?"

"No; I stand by what I told you before. You're still too enmeshed. But I won't fault you for intervening. Alistair's lucky Alfred was so weak and off guard. His vines could've done a number on him if his magic had triggered. He'd have deserved it too."

"Won't fault me, well, _thank you._ " Sarcasm popped and hissed and spat like boiling oil. "That really puts me at ease. So good to know-"

"Dad!" the young voice cut across. "Ya wanna taste? I think it's pretty good! I found some garlic and pepper and onions and butter and I added it! I just used a little bit. I didn't hog it all."

Arthur forced the anger away from his voice, "Yes, Sweet. I'd like that."

"Then c'mon! C'mon over here."

"I'm coming."

Rhys flexed his cold fingers and watched the two interact. Arthur set the boy on his hip to remove the height challenge he'd been enduring.

Alfred dipped the wooden spoon and carefully brought it over. He blew on it to cool it and then offered the food end to Arthur.

Arthur blew on it one more time for caution's sake before taking a bite.

He nodded in approval

"Rhys! Reilley, come try it!"

"Eh…" Reilley groaned from his corner. "I want meat-"

"You're going to eat some and you're going to like it," Rhys arched an imperious eyebrow. "Alistair's going to eat some and he's going to _**love**_ it."

"Poor Scot."

They came up just as Arthur was remarking, "Mother had a stew recipe, I'll have to ask Rhys for it, but I think you'd enjoy it."

Alfred was quiet a moment and then he broached the topic no one wanted to delve into, "Do-do you think your mo-my...Gram would've liked me?"

"Why not?" Alistair announced from the edge of the clearing shaking his wet hair out of his face. "She was an idiot. Yer an idiot. Yeh got so much in common."

Arthur's face was murderous, "Don't mind that rubbish."

"Whaddyamean?" Alfred asked with his wide eyes fixed on Alistair.

Rhys scowled, "Alis-"

"Ya know how you blew all your magic on changing your form? Making it strong, makin' it big? Well, she blew hers too."

"Alba!" several voices chastised.

"She did. And if yeh don't learn some sense," he set the First Aid kit down hard and the strength went out of his voice. "Yeh'll end up jus' like her."

He turned and made for his log-moodily sitting on it as the rain poured down.

"What happened to her?" Alfred demanded. "I know she's dead like Rome and Anasazi, but what happened to her?"

"Don't mind him, Sweet. Don't mind him one bit. Best thing we can do is ignore him. He's trying to spoil our Yule. We won't let him."

"He is being...dramatic..." Rhys forced out. He was. Though he did have a good reason to be so affected. But he didn't really want to discuss it without Alistair's leave.

"Rhys...you're not a liar so..." Alfred mumbled "Why are you lying now?"

It bit into him deeper than he expected, "T-there were a lot of factors involved but Alistair should be-"

"Did she blow her magic?" Alfred insisted "Like he said?"

"Of course not!" Arthur snapped. "Of course not; what she did was for-"

"I wouldn't use that term," Rhys struggled. "She did use her magic completely for the purpose-"

"She used it up casting spells to protect us," Reilley blurted out. "God, everyone was stretching it out."

"Oh," Alfred relaxed and summed up simply. "She died protecting you."

"..."

"..."

"Yes," Rhys agreed.

Alfred dipped the spoon again and held it out to Rhys, "Wanna try?"

Not the reaction he was expecting.

"He's right," Alfred shrugged. "We would've gotten along. She was a hero. That's my kind of idiocy."

* * *

All in all, Alfred was feeling pretty good with how the night had gone so far. Yeah, there were some snags, but every road had its potholes. It didn't matter as long as you made it to your destination.

The meat (slathered with sauces and gravy) had been moved to cool under foil in the tent along with yummy smelling cider that had been poured into a large thermos. He took in another deep whiff and looked longingly to where it all was.

"We..we'll eat right after," Arthur assured. His dad looked kinda wore out though which was too bad, cuz Alfred was having a pretty good time.

His stew appetizer was awesome. Everyone, even Alistair, ate it up with relish. Though it was weird that Rhys and Arthur followed him over there as he offered a small bowl of it and had stared at his Scottish Uncle as he swallowed spoonfuls.

Alfred felt his uncle had apologized pretty well, he knew the dude had issues with his Dad. He was surprised that it got projected on him but...everybody got crazy now and then when they were stressed. The whole Wendigo business started with him chucking a desk though a window over kids' being barred from chocolate milk. He'd give Uncle Al some wiggle room. His uncle even included that great healing vial with the awesome gel stuff he'd used on Grim's scratches. His neck felt way better.

He was surprised that Arthur didn't use it. For that matter, he was really surprised Alistair didn't. He still had a lot of swelling around his right eye and there was blood crusting around his nostrils and hairline.

The rainwater had cleaned him up a bit, but he was still pretty...ew…

When he asked, Arthur had shaken his head _"That was for you. He knows he botched things."_

Alfred was oddly relieved. There was always someone who fucked up at an event. And it wasn't him this time. The Hot Potato had landed with Scotland.

The rumble was still kinda crazy scary when he stopped to think about it though.

Not his uncle. He'd seen his uncle get angry before and get into brawls. Even had his uncle get rough with him one time he was making an ass of himself after he'd been infuriated with the XYZ Affair. Something along the lines of being "too big fer his britches" and thinking himself too high and mighty. To clamor for a war over something so small…

His uncle let him know what he thought about that…

What happened earlier still sucked though, because he hadn't meant to knock into him and his uncle was right to be pissed about that and the fire...but…

What had really gotten him was…

Geez…

His eyes slowly panned over to the Englishman next to him, who smiled gently at him and rested his hand on Alfred's head.

His dad had been _**so**_ angry...

After 1812, he'd kind of lived in dread of the man. All the great, heroic qualities that he'd taken comfort in as a child were suddenly the strengths of his rival and enemy. England was swift and strong and better with a sword than America would ever be. And guns were still clumsy and slow and hard to reload.

In the Revolution, he'd seen Arthur wield his sword and bayonet from a distance. Merciless. Though at the time he'd swaddled himself with the belief that it was because he was fighting a stranger. He'd never do that to _**him**_. Him throwing down his gun had seemingly confirmed it. But then his men kept suffering impressment from the Royal Navy. His ships denied neutrality during the Napoleonic Wars. Him and his country were being disrespected. But he still believed the man wouldn't hurt him. He'd degrade him but he wouldn't...

1812 had disabused him of those delusions and his fragile golden world shattered.

And oddly enough, in its own way, it cured him of heartache.

During the Revolution, he'd been upset with Arthur on behalf of his people.

During 1812, he'd been...the feeling was fuzzier...more complicated...more upset? Betrayed, angry...with a hint of something darker…

Post 1812 and he moved outside the spectrum of great feeling and things like joy and anger became smothered and no longer pulled at him the way-

His hair was combed affectionately with fingers, "It's alright. You're trembling. You needn't be nervous. I'm right here and I've got your coat if it's cold you're feeling."

Right. Right. Right. He hadn't fired that shot. Why did he keep forgetting that?

He allowed his arms to be guided through the arm holes, "There we go. You-you know...when you use a lot of magic or are...low in magic, it's...normal to feel cold."

Alfred blinked, "R-really?"

"Mmhmm."

He stared up into his father's face which right now seemed so different to what he'd seen earlier.

"Once we have you establish a connection tonight. You'll feel so much better," Green eyes crinkled warmly as he folded Alfred's collar correctly. Very gently his fingers pressed against his neck-testing for tenderness.

Alfred pulled the hand away and swung their arms.

"Now, slip on your shoes and we'll make our way to the bench."

Alfred sucked in a breath, "It's starting!?"

Arthur smiled and gave an affirmative nod.

"Won't the food get cold?"

"We celebrate in segments. We'll do this and then we'll feast. Yule lasts the night, dear. We've no need to rush."

Rhys brought out a small trunk and opened its lid carefully. He lowered it for Alfred to view it's contents.

Ashes.

Alfred went white,gasped, and tried to snatch his hand back from Arthur, "It's a dead dude! That's messed up. You Pagan heathens!"

"It's from last year's last log!" Arthur insisted. "Goodness, jumping to that...it's a log. It's the remnants of last year's fire."

"O-oh."

"We'll each take a handful," Arthur explained "And then cast it into the fire."

"Why?"

"Because it's what's done."

"How come?"

"Because, yer Dad is telling you to" Alistair barked from across camp.

"Which is cuz?!" Alfred called back.

"It's tradition and it's good luck!" the Scotsman answered.

"Ohhh...superstition. I believe in lucky underwear! I put mine on when this day seemed to be heading south! You should find some!"

"Well, let's hope yer luck holds! Now take a handful and hold it tight. Cuz yer last to go!" Alistair yelled back.

Alfred nodded and then turned back to Arthur whose eyebrow was twitching, "Do you two usually yell at one another this way?"

"We're not yelling. We're using our 'You-Better-Hear-Me' voices."

Alfred blinked as Rhys released a long exhale. If he wasn't mistaken, it almost seemed like his stoic uncle was a teensy bit frustrated.

"Why do we do it, though?"

"For the Sun," Rhys answered "We burn it in faith that the Sun will return and lift the land of Darkness."

"For Spring?" Alfred asked.

"That's right."

"Everybody loves Spring," Alfred mumbled darkly. "...and Harvest. Land always has to _give_ to be appreciated."

"Well when land doesn't give, people die," Reilley put forward bitterly. "And if it gives when it's sick, they die too."

"Yeah, I guess that's..." Alfred became aware that Arthur was studying him closely. "I-I'm not trying a to be a jerk. I'm just...trying to figure it out...and...and how I feel about it."

"I know that," Arthur remarked softly "Water shares that you know?"

"Huh?"

"When the rains come too early, when the rains come too late. When they fall too hard or fall too soft. If the river floods its banks with homes set too close. People struggle to rule it. Give its power tasks; power a mill, light a city. And they curse it when it breaks free or doesn't perform. When its oceans sink ships or batters buildings and cliffs and gives rise to disasters...Land is that way too. People...nations...covet land. Land is always put to use. Fallow land is resented. Your Steinbeck argued-"

" _A fallow field is a sin and the unused land a crime against the thin children,"_ Alfred recited stiffly.

"Hmm, but that's the land healing itself. And it _**has**_ to heal itself from overuse."

Or ya get Dust Bowls or potato blights or a zillion other quiet disasters through the rows.

Alfred bit his lip and nodded at the multiple layers Arthur probably intended with that.

He reached in and grabbed a fistful of dusty ash-feeling its grains creep under his fingernails.

Arthur used his free hand to reach in.

They watched Rhys travel over to Reilley (who'd nicked their umbrella much to Arthur's annoyance) and then to Alistair.

Rhys walked over to his bench, took his handful, and set the trunk down, "Alfred? Just do as we do."

He held his fistful of dust high, "Gwalia of the South."

The dust glowed green and he threw it into the fire where it sparkled. The flames changed color and leapt high before settling.

"Alba of the North," Alistair's handful turned red.

"Eire of the West," Reilley's turned violet.

"Albion of the East," Arthur spoke clearly, calmly. Blue flames spurted up before going back to normal.

Alfred swallowed. What...exactly…?

They looked expectantly at Alfred.

"Uh…" Directions. He-he needed to say his name and a direction! Right. He had this. Right?

Compared to them he'd be West? Right? More West? Cuz he was across the ocean, right?

"Um...uh...America of the West-er-Wester-more-ness?!" His dust didn't glow.

Nothing happened.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Google. Or Legend of Zelda. Or the song "America the Beautiful."

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Misericorde-a very interesting and tragic instrument used by knights if you research it *hinthintwink.* President Polk and President Monroe wanted more land for the U.S. Brief mention of Dog Star Sacrifice and Iroquois gauntlet as well as Celtic Sacrifice. Teensy mention of colonial witchcraft. Some Welshness. Some drama. Some sprinkles of angst among the fluff for flavor. Another Alfred and Arthur chapter.

 **AN:** Thank you so much for your reviews, well-wishes, and patience! I'm glad you're all still interested. School's being a pain in the butt and the deadlines for multiple projects are coming up quick, so my updates will continue to be kinda sporadic. Thanks for hanging with me. Reading through your comments helps reduce my stress and keep my creative juices going. Hope you enjoy : DDD And HAVE A HAPPY THANKSGIVING! EAT, READ, AND BE MERRY!

 **Chapter 48: First Coven**

* * *

"Damn you, Magical Geography!" Alfred hissed as he stared at his dust.

Was he just flat out wrong? Was his handful defective? Or was he not magical enough for this? Had his family wasted their time on him?

The dust wasn't glowing.

His eyes scanned the others; they'd said their names and directions and got magicky outfits...like Link from Legend of Zelda.

He looked down at his still ordinary clothes and his still ordinary ashes.

He tugged on Arthur's hand.

What had he done wrong?

"Perhaps another name," Rhys remarked from his spot. "Some names have more power depending on how long you've had them or what you accomplished while wearing them."

"Rhys," Alistair growled.

Other name?

Other name...

A human one? Nonono none of them had used...

The epiphany came.

"But that name sucks," Alfred whined. He'd chosen America, dammit! It was beautiful and powerful and perfect! A word with possibilities. A name without definition. He was able to tailor his own meaning for it. Unlike his old, reluctantly remembered, happily cast off one.

"Alfred," England squeezed his hand tightly in worry. "Alfred, you _**have**_ to connect or you won't benefit from the solstice."

"..." Cheap. White. Shells.

"Alfred!"

"Roanoke of the Northwest."

Still nothing happened.

His shoulders slumped. Dammit. He failed magic.

He looked pleadingly to Arthur for help.

England bit his bottom lip and sucked in a breath.

"He can't say it for you!" Alistair interrupted. "This is your first coven; it'll muck up your connection. It's part of the rite; if you're given the answer-it's not a challenge. You have to identify yourself on your own."

Arthur glared at his brother before sighing and then going calm, "Alfred, poppet, think it out...where do you hail from?"

"Arthur-"

"Shut it, I know! Now, yes, when we're set in a group like this we," he gestured to himself and his brothers " _We_ are setting our directions in relation to each other. If I were casting with Norway or Romania it-"

"I know!" Alfred snapped in dismay. "I knoooow. But I can't get it to work-"

Arthur patted his hand, "This is your first, dear. Use what suits _**you**_ best."

"Here's a hint:" Reilley called. "Whose side are ya-"

"Eire!?"

"H-huh?"

"You're all making him nervous. God, there's no rush. There's plenty of time," Arthur snapped. "Think about it, dear. Just reason through it. Where are you from?"

"I'm more west…"

"Are you?" Arthur challenged. "What about _**your**_ brothers?"

"Huh?"

England chewed his lip, " _You_."

" _Me?_ " Alfred echoed unsurely.

Arthur was trying to give him a hint, Alfred could feel it, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"I met you..." Arthur began-waiting for him to fill in the blank.

Alfred frowned, "In Virginia."

"Yes, yes..." He made a go on motion.

"But I was in Roanoke first."

"Yes," Arthur nodded emphatically.

The fuck?

"...uh…?"

Realizing they weren't getting anywhere, Arthur stared down, then up, then side to side before his eyebrows shot up.

Smirking, Arthur shocked him by humming _"From Sea to Shining Sea."_

Was he poking at him for Manifest Destiny yet again? Yeah, him and Monroe and Polk had a grand vision of expanding their nation from East to-

OH!

Okay.

Alright.

Yup. Yup. Yup. He got it.

"But wait!" he breathed "That means that there'll be two of us. Is that allowed? Dad? Is doubling up like that-"

Arthur smiled in relief and released his hand.

Alfred stared at his now free hand. It kinda surprised him that here, in his moment of honest uncertainty, Arthur chose to let go.

Arthur ruffled his hair and gave him a nudge forward.

"...R-Roanoke of the East!"

The dust turned a bright teal blue and he stared fixedly at it-half forgetting what he was supposed to do next. It made him tingle from his fingers to his toes...especially his toes.

A solid poke in the back jumpstarted him and he threw his handful into the flames-watching excitedly as they turned sky blue before transitioning back to orange.

He was so relieved. It was like being stuck on stage, blanking out on a line and then miraculously remembering it just as the audience began to fidget and cough.

However, before he could say something hammy, he felt it; a strange shivery feeling like he was part of a constellation. Like he was being lightly traced in a connect-the-dots drawing and the lines were spreading out to connect him to-

He was snatched into a tight hug and whirled around.

"I'm so proud of you!" Arthur gushed.

Alfred's cheeks puffed, "I could've used some instructions."

"Struggling to find yer way is part of the rite," Alistair barked. "It took Eire nearly an hour cuz he couldn't figure it out."

"And you all left me there so you could go eat, only Mam-" he cut himself off.

"So we can eat now, right?" Alfred exclaimed.

"Aye, we can eat," Reilley hurriedly agreed.

Halle-friggin-lujah!

"YES! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. I'm starving!" He kicked his feet to be set down and once that was granted, he went and grabbed Alistair's hand and tugged him forward. "C'mon, c'mon."

With his other hand he grabbed Arthur's and he pulled both adults to the tent.

No sulking Drama Queens allowed!

Otherwise Alistair would stay out on his bench and there'd be no way Alfred could eat if someone was stuck outside. He knew how that felt...being left out and unwelcome…

There was always a diplomat or a politician or a tradesman or sometimes even a president! who felt uncomfortable dining around a nonhuman, immortal thing like him.

It always sucked to put all that effort into getting dressed up fancy just to be turned away at the door with that strained smile…

" _Terribly sorry, sir, but the evening requires the utmost genteel company if we're to gain the alliance of-"_ Blah, blah, blah, blah...rejection…whatever...

Besides!

He smiled wickedly. He remembered plenty of times where he'd been forced to "get along" with Canada, Barbados, and Jamaica despite rivalry and feuding.

It was high time for Dad and Uncle Al to play the part of good role model!

He released them once they were inside, turned, and beamed.

Neither said anything, but the tension was pretty palpable with Arthur's body going so stiff and Alistair refusing to make eye contact.

"Happy Yule! Let's feast!" Alfred declared.

"Let's!" Reilley agreed-darting between his brothers causing both to fall onto the cushioned floor.

"Prat!"

"Heid-the-baw!"

The food was awesome. Alfred dug in hungrily. Now _this_ was what celebrations were s'posed to entail.

"Ah, I see your appetite's returned," Arthur smiled as he primly ate from his plate. He was careful to eat on the uninjured side of his mouth. Hopefully, it'd be all better by Christmas Day. Mouth injuries suck even more when they coincide with big holidays.

"Mmhmm," Alfred returned as he happily indulged in delicious boar ribs. It was kinda messy though, so maybe it was just as well his outfit didn't change; he wasn't sure magic clothes were machine washable.

Rhys poured them all generous amounts of cider, but Alfred couldn't help but frown as they spiked theirs with rum.

No offer was made to him and when he complained, Arthur spluttered, "O-of course you can't-"

Reilley piped up, "I brought a six pack of that green fizzy drink yeh love-"

"Original? Not that weaker one you guys-"

"He doesn't need all of that sugar!" Arthur snapped. "You'll rot his teeth to nubs-"

Alfred scoffed, "Like _**you**_ can talk about teeth-"

"It's _**Yule**_ ," Reilley cut in, "Arthur, come on."

Alfred felt his mood cheer up even more. Reilley was finally starting to act like himself again. Ever since the fairy-goblin fiasco, he'd been kinda short with him. He must've gotten over it. YES! Now the night was really gonna be awesome!

"...one. You may have one," Arthur gave a longsuffering sigh. "Choose when you want to have it."

"Kay," Alfred licked barbeque sauce off his fingers.

"Napkin," Arthur scolded lightly as he buttered a thick slice of bread for Alfred and then himself.

Real butter. Alfred smiled in satisfaction as it melted in his mouth.

Boar leg was delicious too. His teeth tore into the meat in blissful repetition until-CRUNCH!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there," Reilley plucked the clean bone from him. "Yeesh. There's plenty of meat, boyo. Ya don't have to eat this part." He waggled the bone at him.

"But the marrow-"

"Aye, ya don't want to waste. Tha's fine, we'll make broth from the bones, alright?" Reilley set the eaten bits into a Tupperware container.

"...kay."

While Alfred picked another rib clean, he watched Arthur cut wedges from a green apple and divide the slices between them.

He eagerly reached for the plate when Arthur was finished.

As Alfred crunched the sweet fruit and wiped a dribble of juice from his chin with his sleeve, he turned to Arthur.

"Hey Dad?"

"Mmmhmm?"

Man, Arthur was good at never talking with his mouth full.

"...I didn't get robes…" he pointed out.

Arthur paused, swallowed, and smiled reassuringly, "That's alright. That's perfectly alright. You'll receive them along with your object of power when you're ready."

All of his good feelings screeched to a halt.

Alfred stared down, "...I'm...sorry about your wa-"

A hand rested on his head, "That's enough of that. No one can use it without my permission. It's just a bargaining device, I'll have it back soon. Now, would you like some honeycomb as well?"

Arthur fished out a jar and with a pair of tongs pulled a large comb out.

"Rather messy," Arthur confessed-laughing lightly as dribbles of honey slopped down on the plate.

He cut it into small manageable wedges and reached for two clean spoons.

"When I was your age, it was my favorite treat. Mint and I would go travel through the forest questing for bee hives."

Alfred listened attentively as he took up a spoon-aware that Arthur was trying to make him feel better. Heck...making him feel better had pretty much been his dad's mission since rescuing him. And how many people did that? The photos in his wallet could tell you.

"...so she'd hover near me as I very carefully shimmered out on the branch. Her job was to hold the clay tray as I ignited the needles in it. And she'd hold it up to the hive and the smoke would scare them to stillness while I cut out a comb or two. We'd then go tromping about in search of her favorite berries."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and decided it was time for a well-placed poke to show Arthur he wasn't feeling melancholy anymore, "Humph, you'd get so mad when we were little and played near hives."

Arthur flushed a bit, "Er...Y-yes well, that's...that's...different."

"But you just said you were _**my**_ age!"

"I _**did**_ get stung now and then, you know?"

"Daaad."

"And there always those who couldn't afford to be stung. Not even once. And others who got caught up in a swarm and-I dared not take a chance. You didn't need to risk yourselves. I brought you plenty of honey. We could just purchase it by then."

"I remember the people bringing the honey bees. It kinda makes me laugh imagining them on a ship."

Arthur sighed and shook his head, " _ **Not**_ pleasant. I assure you."

"The white man's fly," Alfred murmured nostalgically.

"Wot?"

"That's what they called them." Osha and the others...

Arthur mulled that over as he took another bite, "I see…"

"I'm glad cows and chickens and stuff made it over" He blurted-remembering how the new culture that arrived seemed easier for him to adapt to in some ways. "You can depend on milk and eggs the way you can't depend on the sea."

Arthur abruptly stiffened and watched him with unreadable eyes.

Whoops. He just insulted his Dad's element. Crap, he was just determined to ruin this, wasn't he? Getting mixed up with UnSeelies, losing Arthur's wand, nearly igniting Alistair, putting his foot waaaaaaay into his mouth...

"I-I just…" He fumbled. "It was so hard. They didn't want me to girdle the trees. And we had to leave some berries for the animals and spirits and I just wasn't the best net maker and I couldn't swim. So I'd only catch little stuff like crabs and ghost crabs and teeny fish and stuff. And that was on good days! But the cows and chickens you can find. They stay in the same spot and they give their milk and they lay their eggs-and there's not near as much luck involved."

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together, "And you were hungry all the time…"

It was said very softly with a seriousness that made Alfred fidget. Darn it, Alfred bit his lip, he kept dragging the mood down.

 _Geez Alfred_ , he berated himself, _Dude, s'matter with you?!_

All the gooey mushiness of the last few weeks must've gotten to him; he'd sprung an inconvenient leak and it seemed like his innards just longed to gush out and dampen things.

Green eyes were watching him closely.

Alfred decided obliviousness was the best line of defense against unwarranted sympathy.

Everybody took their knocks now and then...encountering hardship didn't make you a special snowflake.

He gave an inane laugh, "Don't forget cold! That's what I got when I didn't travel with the season. You stay for the winter, ya get winter."

Everybody dealt with stuff. No doubt Arthur and his brothers had endured cold winters up here-especially during their Celtic days.

But Arthur didn't smile and Alfred felt his own waver.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some more?"

"N-no, actually. No, I'm good. I might be...later..."

Arthur nodded at the remaining meat, "It'll still be here."

Alfred couldn't deny the sigh of relief that escaped him at that and he blushed as green eyes swept over him once more.

Wellllp...it seemed like Arthur was now fully aware and willing to accommodate his...food concerns. Hawaii had still been the quickest on the uptake...though Arthur seemed more...understanding?

Hawaii and Texas accepted it as a quirk.

Arthur seemed determined to get to the root of it and absorb the concept as a whole.

Alfred wasn't sure how he felt about it.

It kinda reminded him of how uneasy Arthur would get whenever Alfred opened letters before him.

Alfred had a favorite letter opener; It was a long thin blade shaped like a small sword. It even had a medieval styled hilt.

A colonial Alfred had leapt at the chance to buy it from an antique dealer. It had seemed so regal in the window lying on a cushion.

It had been long for a letter opener but thin for a knife, though with a little sharpening it served its purpose well.

Arthur would always stop and stare whenever Alfred sliced through a seal or envelope with it. He thought the old man had admired it until he offered to give it to him.

He was...very harshly refused.

It would be years before he realized the blade was a misericorde and to make sure to keep it in a drawer whenever Arthur visited.

Arthur handed him a napkin which Alfred shakily accepted and wiped his hands.

"All clean?"

"Oh...uh...um, yeah."

"Here," Arthur dabbed Alfred's face with another napkin.

His face heated up. Were his uncles watching?

His temperature increased even more. Yes, they were...though...no one said anything.

"There we are," Arthur nodded in approval and sat back. He gave Alfred a side glance. "Now, do you see that chest at the back?"

"Y-yeah?" It was a large ornate trunk at the back corner of the tent. He'd kinda assumed it was there to add ambiance and keep the tent anchored down. The wind and rain was hitting that side of the tent pretty hard.

"Go open it."

Alfred stared at Arthur and then at the trunk.

Arthur's expression softened once more and Alfred felt an embarrassing amount of relief. Arthur was letting the other moment go.

Arthur gestured to it, "Go on now, poppet."

A bubble of excitement expanded in his chest and Alfred bounced over. He looked over his shoulder.

"Go on."

 _ **Another**_ present?

He chewed his bottom lip as a grin stretched his face and with twitchy, energetic fingers he opened the latch and heaved up the lid.

"It's got pillows," he stated flatly.

Arthur gave him a lazy, secretive smile.

Alfred frowned and then...excitement ignited again. He dug in-tossing the pillows out.

Then there were blankets.

He paused a beat and then grabbed armfuls and dumped them.

Halfway through he looked back over at Arthur who motioned for him to continue.

He'd made a pretty impressive plush pile before he saw it.

"Oh."

There. At the bottom of the trunk...all nicely folded…

"Oh…"

He reflexively wiped his hands on his jeans before he reached in.

He stood up with it and let it unroll.

A fancy cloak.

He ran a hand over the soft fur lining and trim.

For him...

"A blessed Yule to you my darlingheart. May this gift help shield you from the bitter cold of winter."

He'd known Alfred wouldn't get robes like them…

So he'd made a him a cloak...so he wouldn't be left out...

Alfred practically head-butted the old man's chest as he barreled over to bestow a hug.

"Ooomph!"

He pressed in as close as he could-ignoring the buttons pressing into his face. Arthur's arms enfolded him gently. There was a time when he believed this...this right here...was the best, safest place in existence. That nothing bad could ever reach him here.

And in a moment like this…

Fingers moved gently through his hair…

He could almost believe the lie again.

Arthur chuckled-the sound seemed louder and deeper because his ear was pressed right against him.

Arthur gently removed the garment from his hands to settle it over him.

"Oh, yes. Yes, it sits perfect. I can tell. A little room for you to grow, but not dragging. Looks splendid on you."

Alfred leaned back and Arthur fastened the enamel cloak pin.

"How handsome," Arthur complimented.

"Dishy!" Reilley threw in as he raised his mug up in a "cheers" fashion.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Alfred's fingers traced the tree design over and over, "I dunno, it's so nice. Should I wear it, now? I don't want to get it dirty. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe...take it off before-"

"Do you like it?"

His face heated up and he hurriedly assured, "I like it a lot! That's just it! I just don't wanna ruin it. I have a track record."

When you bought things for yourself, you'd only feel a passing irritation if you destroyed them. When it was a gift…

And this was so nice.

Green eyes looked at him solemnly, "I would be very sad if this garment went into storage for the sake of protection. The only way it would be ruined is if it was denied its purpose. It'd be a waste if you didn't wear it...especially when you wanted to."

Alfred looked up, looked down, looked back up at his father and murmured quietly as he pet the faux fur, "I like it very much. I love capes and cloaks and stuff."

He'd dressed up for plenty of movie premiers, parties, and conventions.

"More than a toy sheep?" Arthur asked archly.

Alfred snorted. So Arthur wasn't gonna be outdone, huh? The apples of his cheeks were beginning to ache, "Willywoolingwych."

"Wot?"

"That's his name. My sheep. It's one word and it's long. So it's Welsh-like."

"How do ya know the sheep is Welsh?" Reilley asked as he reclined against a pillow.

"Obviously, the sheep must swear a lot," Alistair commented around a mouthful of boar leg. "In a strange foreign language full of made-up words that only it really understands."

Rhys released a short snorted, "Ha," from his spot in the tent. "That's rich coming from you. When you're angered you sound as though you're gargling. Alfred...that last bit _**is**_ Welsh. Gwych. Means Great."

Alfred leaned forward conspiratorially and relayed in a low voice, "Google says you have really, really, really, _**really**_ long town names, too."

Rhys slowly smirked, "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch."

"Yeh see, and he's proud of it. Proud of it. It wasn't always that long-he just kept adding to it. For the hell of it. Let's yeh know what kinda mad bastard yer dealing with."

"And tha's why Rome hated him, laddie. Cuz he's bloody mental."

* * *

Arthur's face was still a bit tender and his ankle was smarting even more, but if a little bout of fisticuffs had been necessary to salvage the night, so be it.

He glowered at Alistair who avoided his gaze.

Alistair was embarrassed. As well he should be, attacking Alfred like that. Though it seemed that Alfred's forgiveness was the real source of his discomfort rather than his blatant loss of self-control.

He'd spent a good portion of the last hour throwing surreptitious glances at his nephew and being unusually docile whenever Alfred interacted with him. He'd swear and insult the rest of them but...even when Alfred left himself wide open for a teasing...Alistair stayed quiet.

Reilley didn't.

But Alistair...

Arthur didn't feel like psychoanalyzing the moment, but it was telling that Alistair had called Alfred by his father's archaic name.

Yes, they had issues. Arthur would never deny that, but to have them projected onto his son!?

He fought down another wave of anger-blowing air heavily out of his nose.

It was Alfred's transformation back to his true age that had triggered it.

Alistair had been acting off for a while now and Arthur realized that it wasn't just Yule. It was Alfred.

It was...curious…

Very curious, considering how enviable their relationship had been. Arthur could recall a slew of occasions where he'd seen the two laughing easily over a pint or sparring in the courtyard or walking side by side down a London street while Arthur lagged behind or watched from the corner of his eye.

Arthur had endured it as best he could-reasoning that it was enough to have the boy close for a time and to know that Alistair would try to steer him away from harm when he could.

Yet now..

It was so strange.

That for Alistair...a teenager was easier to deal with...than...

Alfred looked up and smiled-his cherubic little cheeks rosy with gladness.

Arthur pet the soft hair and gently pressed the errant Nantucket strand of hair down. When it lied flat...the resemblance was uncanny.

His hair, the shape of his mouth, his ears, his nose...

All so similar.

It really was fascinating...how Arthur's features could be arranged in another's face…

And be so much dearer...

"It's not gonna stay down," Alfred insisted knowingly.

No, it wouldn't. It never did.

Arthur's hand ruffled the golden strands.

It made no sense-that this…

Green eyes softened.

That _**this**_...could be viewed as a threat.

...shook him like some rag doll…

Shook him the way he'd shaken a young Albion when he'd been furious.

Another surge of rage and fear and shock shuddered through him as the memory replayed.

He pulled the child into a gentle hug and glared at Alistair who looked away again.

Shook him...

No one was allowed to handle his child like that.

Little arms went around his neck and Arthur rested his face against a small shoulder.

He was so dear...

"I don't have a present for you," Alfred murmured. "...sorry."

"You're here," Arthur murmured-feeling his eyes become wet, "It's all I wanted."

* * *

Arthur sighed. Things were going quite well until the next portion of their festivity commenced.

Alfred balked at what was scorched into the top of the stump.

Arthur adjusted his hold on his umbrella while Alfred whined.

"You said I wouldn't have to deal with a pentagram!"

"You asked if you needed to make one. You don't; it is already made."

"You're gonna summon the devil-I'm not signing his book!"

"It is NOT for demon summoning."

"Alfie-boy, if we were doing Dark Arts it'd be much scarier. And there'd be tons of goat blood involved."

Alfred squealed in distressed and squeezed Arthur's leg in a death grip. Arthur glared at Reilley as he shushed his child.

Alistair gave the Irishman an elbow.

Reilley winced, "Sorry. I made it worse."

Rhys swept forward with a small pouch, "In the early, early days, there was sacrifice involved. Humans and animals. Depending on the year and the gods involved."

Arthur grit his teeth. Oh yes. Perfect. That wasn't going to instill nightmares.

"Not anymore. And you aren't fooling _**me**_ , chwb. I imagine you've seen plenty as Iroquois' ward." Rhys paused and looked up with a serious expression. "And I highly doubt it was only animals."

Alfred stiffened.

Arthur hefted him onto hip-hackles rising. If Rhys was trying to upset Alfred deliberately...ooh, Alistair wouldn't be the only one leaving the site injured tonight.

While Rhys sets out the ceremonial rocks, Alfred murmured just loud enough for them to hear, "...I never stayed for the Iroquois gauntlet. I didn't like hearing it either so I'd always...go somewhere...and I was never invited to the White Dog Sacrifice. Once...when I did stay for winter...I did have to watch over the dog though...ya know...in the days leading up..."

Arthur held him tightly. There were layers to that. Violence. Fear. Exclusion. Grief.

He rested his head against the boy's.

"While offerings will be made tonight," Rhys stated "No man or beast shall suffer to please the cosmos."

Alfred slowly relaxed and turned to study what Rhys was up to.

Rhys had set the pieces at specific places along the star.

Without really thinking Alfred reached out to touch the old brooch at the top point.

Arthur and his brothers froze as Alfred traced the design several times.

"That was Mother's," England explained.

Realizing he'd done something disrespectful, Alfred drew his hand back.

"Nono, she'd...she'd want you to…"

He deserved to. She was his grandmother. He needed a sense of connection with her.

Alfred touched it once more and then his hand wandered over to the others; a spear point, an arrowhead, a kilt pin, and Arthur's old fishhook.

It definitely made them all a bit skittish especially when Alfred giggled, "It reminds me of monopoly; everybody's got a little token to use."

"It's important. And now it's time to place you with us," Rhys announced. "Now, these are all objects we've chosen that we feel suits us. You'll be able to change the item out until you have one you feel is right. So don't fear that what you choose needs to be permanent. This will just be a stand in for you this year."

"Why didn't you guys tell me? I coulda grabbed something from home."

"Because yeh'd a chosen something too big, if ya hadn't seen the size of this here stump," Alistair muttered.

"Kay. Yes. That's...probably a good point."

Rhys set down three objects; a bullet, a bolt with a nut, and...Arthur's eyes widened...a 1787 US penny.

Arthur was surprised and touched that Rhys had gone through the trouble of choosing such well thought out pieces; they symbolized war, technology, and economy.

Alfred looked them all over and then shook his head.

He squirmed to be put down. Arthur reluctantly acquiesced.

"I...I...I'm sorry, it's no good. I appreciate you thinking about me it's...just no good. I...dunno…"

He reached for a scoop of mud, pressed it between his fingers, and transformed it into a daffodil.

Arthur felt a spike of nervousness. They hadn't yet gotten to the part where they replenished themselves, "Dear, you really oughtn't conjure when your magic is low and-"

Alfred held the flower up, "Can this work for now, until I figure something out?"

"Al-"

"Of course," Rhys nodded as he accepted it. "Now each point tends to coincide with an element. We have here: Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and Spirit. Naturally, our mother (your grandmother) is in the Spirit Space at the top."

"Like the Free Space on a Bingo card?"

Rhys ignored him, "We believe she's still a guiding force watching over us."

"Oh."

"I'm over here in Air. Reilley too, though he's a bit further down. Closer to Earth. Alistair's just a hair's breadth toward Earth. Arthur's in Water. So, where do you think you ought to-"

"Earth."

Arthur's chest swelled with pride. Alfred was getting more confident. It was so good to witness.

He couldn't wait until Alfred was comfortable enough to go visiting with Norway and Romania. Their meetings had been growing a tad stale as of late. Alfred would be a breath of fresh air.

"Alright then, let's-wait not just yet. Let me see if...Reilly, you usually carry an emergency safety pin, don't you?"

"Yeh don't think I have one," Alistair remarked.

"You ought to, considering the fiascos you've had with your filleadh mòr. But no, I don't think you do."

"Right. Here we are," Reilley offered one up.

At that moment, Alfred abruptly removed his cloak and pushed it into Arthur's free hand.

Arthur felt a spike of concern. Was he overheating? Immediate fears that he was coming down with illness raced through Arthur's mind.

He bundled the cloak under his arm and tried to feel the boy's forehead, "Dearheart, are you feeling iffy?"

Little hands pushed him away. Alfred shifted from foot to foot irritably.

Now what was the matter?

"And we'll pin it right," Rhys decided. "Here. Good. And now we're going to stand in a ring and we'll make our oaths and you'll plant-"

"I need to pee!" Alfred interrupted suddenly. "Is there a non sacred tree I can use?"

Four hands immediately pointed him to a spot beyond their campsite.

"Thanks, berightback."

Arthur blinked dumbly at the now empty space beside him.

"W-wait! Alfred? Alfred?! Take the lantern! And the umbrella! Alfred?!"

He paused to grab the aforementioned items and dashed off in the direction he'd seen the child go.

Damnation. It was so dark. He held up the lantern.

Trees. Trees. Trees.

His heart began to pound.

"Alfred? Alfred?! Alfred, where are you?!"

There was no answer.

* * *

Read & Review Please and Grab Another Turkey Leg : DDD


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Amazon Prime. Or the Mabinogion and its stories.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable  
inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Seriously, the Mabinogion has some cool stories and then it just has some weird ones. Ones that make you go O_O WTF?! What? Wot? What did I just read? Then when your fellow Americans note your distress and gather around and ask what's wrong and you explain what you had to read for class. They reflect your expression perfectly. Except they get angry for you. Which is adorable. Cuz you can still glimpse that Revolutionary spark. If you were upset enough, they'd find pitchforks. Some fluff. Some feels. Some flashbacks.

 **AN:** I swear...gonna combust from all the deadlines. I've got one more hellish week left! And then I can get into the Holiday Spirit! The decorations, the music, the earrings, the treats! The fanfic writing! Thank you for your support and for waiting patiently while I deal with school. Your reviews have really helped keep me writing between finals. Now without further ado.

: DDD

 **Chapter 49: I Used Hand Sanitizer**

* * *

Alfred was answering nature's call when-

"ALFRED?!"

"Ack. Wait! Eep. Wait," Alfred hastily zipped back up. "Dude, I do NOT need assistance."

The Briton staggered into view.

"What did I say about these woods?" Arthur demanded sounding breathless and…scared?

He answered his own question: "They're easy to get lost in. Next time take the lantern!"

"Ooooookay." He chased him down for that? "Ya got hand sanitizer?"

Arthur sighed, set down the lantern and scrounged about his coat's pockets, "Here."

"Damn, you're always so prepared."

"Watch your language, young man. And for goodness sake, get under the umbrella before you drown."

The walk back to camp was kinda awkward with Arthur spouting off reasons it was dangerous to go off like he had.

"It's a moment of vulnerability. If I counted up all the men I've lost questing for privacy during battle I-"

A chill ran down Alfred's spine.

"Right I just…" he turned and looked back. Just darkness.

And yet…the unease remained.

He blinked in realization.

Bathrooms!

Gah! He'd tripped right into one of the classic Horror Movie pitfalls!

He had to respect B.B.W.A.H.G.E.L.!

Bad things happened when your pants weren't up and secure. That's why he a stout defender of belts and suspenders no matter what the youth touted as the latest fashion.

"What is it? Do you hear something?" Arthur asked.

"I...dunno…"

Arthur held the light high, but they couldn't see anything. Rain continued to pour and wind whipped at their clothes.

"Here, put your cloak back on. Good. And you carry the light. That's a good lad."

Arthur took up his free hand while giving their surroundings another cursory glance.

Alfred squinted into the darkness. He couldn't see anything...and yet he swore something was there.

Arthur gave Alfred a gentle, if somewhat authoritarian, tug and they continued back to the camp.

"Dad?"

"Just because I don't sense it, doesn't mean your instincts are wrong. Likely it's a fae spying on our ritual. We usually don't mind either way if they attend, but...as this is your first... We've asked the Courts to leave us be until I present you. Though you know first hand how well they take orders."

Alfred blinked. The idea of anyone watching a novice like him struggle made him self-conscious.

"Am I doing okay?"

"Hmm?"

"Yule-ing? I messed up earlier with the naming part and-"

"You're doing very well. Next, you'll need to make an oath to your fellow practitioners."

"Like what?"

"Preferably something you will do and that we may hold you accountable for."

"Like?"

"I always promise to be more patient."

"..." Alfred stared.

"I know. And each year, I improve. I'm approaching sainthood, I know it."

Alfred snorted and then asked, "Does it have to be a blanket statement that includes everybody or can it be individual?"

"It can be either. Though it's usually easier if it simply applies to the four of us."

"Hmmmm," Alfred frowned in concentration. "I guess I could try to be helpful. Your guys's tech skills are pretty sad."

"Or you could...communicate with us more," Arthur suggested. "In person, over the phone, through post, or perhaps computers-"

"I guess I could vow to take my magic studies more seriously."

"I think we'd really appreciate you involving us more in your life: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Yule...more holiday trips with everyone could be...enjoyable. Heh, you'll be a pro at cricket before you know it if it you'd make friends with the oth-"

Alfred expelled a loud unhappy breath, "Is this _**my**_ oath or not?"

Arthur backpedaled, "It's your oath, _**yours**_. You may vow whatever you wish."

Alfred gave a nod and they continued forward. He chewed his lip irritably. Grateful as he was for everything Arthur did for him, he couldn't help but feel sometimes that his dad did it on purpose. So Alfred would feel like he owed him and would cave when Arthur made a demand.

"...You're just so bossy sometimes."

It should've prompted an immediate, familiar, squawk of indignant protest.

Instead, Arthur sighed heavily, "...I know, pet."

There was something awfully vulnerable in that tone. The lantern light gave his profile a shadowy appearance and he looked ghostly and sad.

"...do you really want to be written to that bad? Is it such a big deal?"

Arthur never seemed to regard letters as sentimentally as Alfred did. It often seemed like they just became sources of teasing when his spelling and grammar skills betrayed him.

"I miss getting letters from you that aren't business related."

"Yeah?"

Arthur's voice cracked a bit as he answered, "Yes."

* * *

Reilley stared dubiously at Alfred's outstretched hand.

"I used hand sanitizer!" Alfred groused.

Reilley rolled his eyes. Kids.

He scanned Rhys's and Alistair's nonplussed expressions.

Handholding?

The lot of them hadn't held hands for this holiday in centuries.

Arthur raised one thick eyebrow—daring the lot of them to refuse.

Rhys shifted his weight. Reilley stared down at the little hand… _ **did**_ he use hand sanitizer?

Arthur seemed unfazed, but then he'd seen Arthur carry a vomit covered little Jett after an eating contest gone awry.

"Ack, fer God's sake," Alistair grabbed Alfred's hand and reached for Rhys-smirking a bit as he jerked the Welshman over and it caused him to stumble.

Reilley reluctantly joined hands with Rhys and Alistair.

Alfred gasped as magic jolted through them.

"Whoa! Didja feel that? Wow that was-wow. It's like-like-wow, I mean there was me...and there was Dad sometimes and now there's all of you!" he babbled excitedly. "Have ya ever been shocked by something and it makes your teeth buzz? It's like that-but good. Ya know?"

Rhys's words came floating back: " _Nearly all of Alfred's magic mishaps have resulted from ignorance and desperation."_

Because he felt alone.

Isolated.

He knew how that felt. His brothers they…they were all together on the isle while he was the odd one out.

He bit his lip.

And Alfred was even further away.

These Magic Lessons were giving him a chance to connect.

"Lookit that!" Alfred squealed, eyes on on the stump where the incantation circle was now glowing.

"We are a clan," Rhys announced clearly—taking up the mantle as eldest. "By flesh and blood we are bound and our magic intertwines for our common good. For the safety and unity of our coven, I renew my commitment for the coming year with a vow to my kin: This year I endeavor…" He swallowed "I endeavor to tread…not…not without caution but…to tread with-with…" he took a deep breath "To tread into uncertainty without mere suspicion or strategic ambition but…" He sighed. "I'll start over. I endeavor to not avert courses because they challenge me."

Reilley shared a wide eyed stare with his brothers. Rhys usually vowed impartial assistance. Something which they'd come to depend on.

Alistair's mouth had made a small "o" of surprise.

Rhys frowned at him and gave him a nod—prompting him to go next.

"I…well…ah dammitall…I know I really fucked up earlier so I…I guess I…I'll endeavor to ugh…to deal with my…temper better…I mean this sorry lot IS my coven so…not promisin' any miracles but…look, I…that's it. I-I-I'm done. Eire, go next!"

Everyone was leaving the script. Not him.

"I'll endeavor to come when called and aid when necessary."

It had worked for centuries and he wasn't about to abandon it now.

"Ack, well, don't leave yer comfort zone on our account," Alistair growled-scorn dripping from every word.

Rhys eyed his brother but the edge of his mouth twitched, "Ymdawelu. You _**just**_ promised."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Rhys shook his head in amusement. He was pleased though. You could tell…it was in the eyebrows.

Alistair had always been his favorite out of them.

Yeah, he tended to judge and nag and poke him the most, but he was always the first to be pleased with him.

When they'd all been little, Reilley had been rather sensitive to it. Thought it was because he was the youngest and that after Albion's arrival he'd be taken in by his eldest brother.

But he still preferred to take Alba with him to watch over the sheep and fluster him with word riddles.

A shame because Reilley was rather good at those.

One dinner when he'd finally had enough, he'd demanded a reason.

Rhys had shrugged and remarked that he'd always liked Alistair's red hair. From the first day. Redder than embers. Redder than the dawn.

Alba had snorted into his stew and lisped (he'd lost his front teeth defending Eire from a bully in the village), " _I always knew deep down under the thoughts yeh were an idgit. It would be something that_ _ **dumb**_ _that made yeh like me best."_

When Reilley pointed out that _he_ had red hair too thank you very much, Rhys had shrugged.

Alistair's was redder. Or rather it was darker and Reilley's was more...orange….red.

 _Alistair had given Reilley a soft punch on the shoulder, "He's just an idgit, Eire. And yeh aren't missing anythin.'" He pointed his spoon at their brother. "Ya see…He's boring. I'm going teh be exciting. Tha way when you meet up with others you can get to braggin' about me and you'll know….yeh'll know that if yeh ever have any troubles like-like the other day yeh won't even hafta fight. Yeh'll jus' mention me and they'll all go a'runnin!"_

Rhys had frowned heavily at that. No. He was a talker. An advisor. A strategist. He'd never be one of those older brothers who could step in and act as a physical Protector.

The few times he did, he came out bloodied and Alistair ended up embarrassed for him.

Alistair would grow up and take that spot. For all of them.

Though Alba's dissatisfaction with Cymru did make him take his archery and spear lessons more seriously.

And Reilley learned to fight too. Nah, he couldn't match that meathead for strength and he'd never revel in battle the way Alba did, but…he learned to fight in his own (sometimes underhanded) way.

Alistair might have had more power in his punches, but he wasn't near as fast and Reilley always had a keener sense about danger. Could sniff out a traitor in their midst pretty damn quick. Oh and it was kinda satisfying…watching Rhy's face. Whenever given the choice, Alistair picked Reilley over his other brothers, to watch his back and guard his flank when they went into war.

Sure he said it was only because Arthur was stupid and Rhys was useless...but he was still the one he'd split quarters with when there weren't enough tents or rooms.

Though he'd always complain that it was hell on earth hearing him snore. But yeh know, _**Alistair**_ was a pillow thief so-

Arthur cleared his throat, "I endeavor to be patient with my kin and to listen more keenly when differences in thought arise. It's your turn now, Sweet."

"Okey dokey. I promise er…I endeavor…that does sound more fancy. I endeavor to question stuff."

Aaand that was s'posed to help them all by…?

The quizzical stares continued until Alfred went on.

"I…I should ask about stuff that I…I don't understand. I think if I do that…I won't jump to conclusions so fast or…listen so readily t-t-to people who wanna trick me…"

It was acknowledgment that he'd made mistakes and was aiming not to repeat them.

Reilley found himself nodding supportively.

Rhys continued on, "As Yule is a time of death and rebirth...of enduring winter for the return of spring. We celebrate the cycle and take comfort in knowing that that which is cut down gives back to the earth so that more things can grow. Alfred, plant the seed."

As Alfred wandered about debating where on Arthur's side of the camp he should set it, Arthur followed with an umbrella—holding it over him and clucking like a mother hen.

Reilley turned to his brothers.

They'd all immediately dropped hands once Alfred left their ring.

"Sad Rhys," Reilley scoffed and gestured to their nephew. "He's a baby newbie beginner….and his oath made more sense than yours did." He raised his eyebrows. "The fuck were you promising?"

Pinpricks of color appeared in Rhys's cheeks, "I thought I made myself abundantly clear."

"Did you understand, Alis?"

"He's my barmy sheep-lovin' brother, I gave up trying to understand him a long time ago."

"I really don't appreciate what you keep insinuating and I could make quite a few derogatory statements about your fashion choices and your musical inclinations."

"Yeh could…but yeh won't."

Rhys pursed his lips, glanced away, glanced back, hesitated and tentatively reached over and ruffled Alistair's wet, red hair, "…Happy Yule."

* * *

Arthur relaxed against a slope of piled cushions with his hands behind his head. The stereo played on with the sounds of harps and flutes.

Reilley was humming as he wrote on a slip of paper and then wound it around his arrow.

No doubt, he was offering a song.

Alistair's tongue was between his teeth as he wrote. The way he would pause and gesture with his hands now and then made it clear he was remembering a battle and doing his best to convey his movements accurately for a memoir.

Who knew what Rhys was offering…he could be mysterious when he wanted to be.

Arthur had written a sonnet-praising the sea.

His love for it made it an easy task.

Alfred was drawing the shield knot. In an interesting surge of creativity, Alfred made it clear the shield was formed with vines. He'd made little leaves, thorns, and curls here and there.

While Rhys boiled up another batch of cider, Alfred quietly voiced some insecurity.

"You're sure this'll be enough? It's kinduva crap gift. I'm no Michelangelo," Alfred eyeing his work critically. "I mean, I get that we're burning this stuff anyway and that's probably for the best, but-"

"It's perfect. Now write your wish."

Alfred's lips quirked as he grabbed a marker and began scrawling it at the bottom.

Arthur smiled; he was such a resilient boy.

So much had happened yet Alfred remained such a bubbly airy thing. Perhaps it was because he was young. He was still in that seeds-floating-on-the-breeze phase. When he got older, his roots would set in.

He smiled when the boy tried to peek at his sonnet.

When it came to firing their arrows into the fire, Alfred was a bouncing bundle of excitement.

"Now Alfred, when you make your offering the fire will react-"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Sweet, maybe you should let one of us demonstrate, just so you can-"

"I've had to be last at everything tonight! I wanna be first at this."

"Dear-"

"Let the boyo go," Reilley smirked.

As Rhys came into view stringing the bow with ease, Alfred's little fingers immediately moved in a "Gimme" motion.

Arthur sighed.

Arthur and Rhys had agreed to keep the bow hidden until it was time.

Naturally, all the Kirklands stayed well behind Alfred as the boy aimed his arrow.

"Now Alfred" Arthur tried again "When the fire-"

"I'm not gonna miss," he grumbled irritably. "It's _**right**_ there."

"Dear, it's not-"

He fired the arrow and gasped in horror as the fire reached tendrils around him; though they didn't injure him-it gave him quite a fright.

That was precisely what he was trying to warn him against.

When the fire receded, Alfred glowered at uncles' snickering.

"Ooh me, hope ya didn't wet yerself!"

"Belt up!" Arthur barked. "He did well."

"Dammit you guys, why don't you warn me when creepy stuff is gonna happen?"

"Ya wanted to go _first_ ," Alistair reminded him too innocently.

Following their offerings, they passed among them a fine, jewel encrusted goblet with gruff "To your health's" and "Wassail's."

"Oooooh chalice," Alfred breathed when it was his turn.

He took a deep gulp of the warm beverage, lowered it and carefully passed it back to Rhys.

"I'm...all warm now…" Alfred flexed his feet, wiggled his fingers, and poked his tummy. "S'weird…"

"That's your magic replenishing," Arthur explained-reaching over and tickling the little belly. Alfred giggled and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"You must feel so much better now that we've had Yule," Arthur grinned tickling the child's unguarded neck.

Rhys handed him the cup next.

He took a long draught of the cider and the warm burn of magic kindled inside him. It bubbled and expanded down to his fingertips...down to his toes.

"And now?" Alfred asked-wiping away a slight cider mustache from his upper lip.

"We make enough noise to wake the trees," Reilley answered-cranking the stereo up.

Alfred turned out to be particularly fond of tracks that featured drums and danced around with Reilley when the tempo picked up.

It was a joy to watch. No, Alfred was never quite graceful, but he was wonderfully surefooted. Memories of various balls rose like mist. He'd often refrain from joining in so he could watch.

It reminded him of horses. His whole life was filled with horses. He remembered helping make chalk horses across the countryside. It was satisfying to see the Uffington White Horse survive the ages.

Some officers amused themselves with prancing ponies. Pretty white things that caught one's eye as they marched in a parade, but never Arthur (not unless a monarch demanded it). A surefooted stallion was always a boon. He'd always been rather proud that Alfred's mounts were always dependable beasts. He'd console himself that at least his boy learnt that much from him. Even if he ignored all other advice and rejected all else he'd observed as a colony-He at least had a good horse to carry him safely.

He watched attentively. Alfred danced. Reilley pranced. It was rather noticeable in his opinion. There was a good deal of strength in Alfred's movements. Confidence. Deliberation. It would be hard to knock him down.

Reilley was, perhaps, more entertaining to watch. Something lively-poised on the edge of ruin or delight. He'd either land his movements well or go down with a crash.

You just knew Alfred wasn't going to stumble.

And then Arthur got to thinking about workhorses. Out in the fields. Day in. Day out. Keeping mouths fed. Keeping pockets full. He'd seen families weep harder for a dead heavy horse than a beloved relative.

He'd also seen too many good horses suffer under bad masters. Worked too hard for too long.

He shifted uncomfortably as memories hit.

Horses that weren't meant to be workhorses having to haul ploughs because their owner was desperate or ignorant or both. There was nothing more depressing in the world than watching that. And he hated to having to stand by and watch.

Alfred rushed over to him-winded and rosy and impossible to deny.

If Reilley was naturally graceful, and Alfred was naturally coordinated, Arthur was the unnaturally well-rehearsed.

He understood the rhythm of the music and what dance movements would go best, but he didn't get the joy out of it that they did.

Though that smile lighting his son's face made it all seem a pleasant enough diversion.

He ought to take him out dancing. Surely, someone somewhere organized events for that. He'd look into it. He'd look and see if he couldn't find somewhere to do that before the end of Alfred's holiday here.

Why didn't he ever do that before?

During the Wars, Alfred always wanted to go dancing any time they were cleared for a little relaxation. Sometimes Alistair went. Sometimes Reilley. Why didn't Arthur ever take him?

Alfred tugged at him.

"Lookit!" He pointed and Arthur looked.

Rhys had busied himself preparing coals so he could bake caraway cakes. Arthur was relieved he didn't have to try his hand at it. Campfire baking was particularly challenging.

He was surprised when his brother groused that perhaps next year they could do things a bit more proper.

When Arthur had stared, Rhys got a bit flustered.

"We really ought to be playing our own instruments," Rhys insisted. "Rather than relying on _**that**_."

He glared pointedly at the stereo. Rhys always preferred live music when possible. He could take an hour or so but gradually got restless and would leave or complain. He was really disappointed when the cinema stopped needing to rely on live orchestras for their films.

Alistair rolled his eyes, "He's going to bitch about that the longer we keep it on. We're gonna have to compromise. Rhys!"

The Welshman looked up from the pan.

Alistair turned the volume down, "Read your damned weirdass Welsh book to us, I'll trade places with yeh and keep an eye on that. But don't cha dare read Lleu Llaw Gyffes or else!"

Twenty minutes in, Arthur had to bite his lips to prevent a smile.

Rhys had commandeered Arthur's laptop (which Arthur had stowed in the tent earlier as a precaution. He'd feared that at some point Alfred would be Alfred and get so bored he'd require computer games).

Rhys had been surprised to find that Arthur already had a digital copy of the _Mabinogion_ and that he didn't need to purchase one.

But Rhys wouldn't even begin the tale until after Alfred could pronounce the title correctly.

And now Alfred had his revenge via a barrage of questions.

Comfortably seated on Arthur's lap, Alfred leaned against his father and fiddled with his cloak pin.

"But where did the claw come from? I mean it's a giant foal-stealing claw. What it's connected to? Or is it seriously just a claw? And if it's a claw what does it do with the baby horse?"

"You're reading too far into it, chwb. The claw is not the point."

"The claw," Alistair interrupted with an affected snobby air "Is why Wales never gets fully conquered by anyone. He's strange-no one really wants him. He's just part of a package deal."

Alistair winced as his ear was twisted and Rhys grumbled something in Welsh that sounded suspiciously like 'Don't say rude things to your elder brother who bathed and cared for you when you could not do so for yourself.'

Which Alistair had snapped in Scots-Gaelic that if he had an elder brother who was less embarrassing, it wouldn't be an issue.

Rhys got rather sour after that and only got over it when Alistair was serving the cake and offered him a larger slice than the rest of them.

Alfred leaned back and didn't seem too annoyed, when Arthur's arm came around his waist.

"You're kinda like a safety belt," Alfred informed him as he brushed away crumbs from his mouth.

He hoped it was a compliment and responded by kissing the top of his head.

Arthur's brothers were terribly amused at his expense when Rhys later chose _Peredur Son Of Efrog._

"I can't believe King Arthur's just sitting on his butt," Alfred complained.

"Yeah well, yeh'd be amazed at how much butt-sitting Arthur does," Alistair snickered.

Arthur glared, "I'm certain he was accomplishing other important tasks."

"Oh aye...I'm sure that's what he thought he was doing" Alistair smirked.

Wanker.

Alfred turned on his side and tried to snuggle closer, "We're kinda like knights…"

Arthur smirked, "I don't know, dear. You don't take orders too well."

"...my armor would be black, cuz I don't serve a lord..."

"Oho."

It was tempting to tease him with Monty Python references but…

Alfred yawned, "We're more like…parts of a...constellation. You're the closest though." He yawned again, "I always feel your gravitational pull the most."

"Of course you do. My heart will always seek to draw yours near."

Alfred flushed and didn't answer-choosing to change the topic.

"Well the tallies are in...I gotta say, Yule was pretty damn wondrous."

They were really going to have work on breaking that habit. A swearing seven year old really turned heads when you were traveling anywhere.

"Good."

But now wasn't the time for rebukes.

"And I'm not just saying that to say it. Hey Dad?" Alfred's fingers nervously twisted Arthur's coats' buttons "I...I just…" Little fingers tapped the buttons, "I wanted to...I wanted to tell you…"

Arthur stilled. He looked down into bright blue eyes. Here it was...the 'I love you' he'd been waiting for since their troubles in 1776.

"I wanted to thank you for tonight."

It didn't come.

Arthur took care to keep his expression open and welcoming even as disappointment dripped down into his stomach.

"I'm really glad I...I got to be here...with _**you**_ ," Alfred choked out. Affection...blunt and sincere and torn from someplace deep and well guarded.

Arthur felt a maelstrom of emotions at hearing that: warmth, pity, love, and concern bubbled together into a froth.

He nuzzled their noses.

"I'm the glad one. I'm so happy you're here," Arthur smiled gently.

He could wait.

Of course he could wait.

However long it may take, he could wait.

When the words didn't cause pain, he wanted to hear them.

And not a moment sooner.

* * *

Alfred kicked his legs excitedly as he signed out of Amazon Prime.

Last night had been awesome! He chewed on his necklace chain as he thought over Yule.

It was a little embarrassing that he hadn't been able to wait up until dawn. He had fuzzy memories of being carried inside and tenderly tucked into bed.

His cheeks burned a bit and he spat the metal chain out of his mouth.

Maybe next year when he was all rested up, he'd make it. Maybe he could even introduce s'mores into the tradition. S'mores maybe everything better!

He tucked the chain back under his shirt.

He'd added Arthur's iron ring to his dog tags and cross. He was just borrowing it! Until the creepy feeling he'd gotten in the woods wore off.

The ring was cool. All old and engraved and heavy. The weight made it seem like a protective charm.

He hopped down from the chair and slipped his sneakers on.

He stomped twice to appreciate the running lights on his shoes and then set his sights on the room adjoined to his.

A mischievous grin stole over his features and he shot across to Arthur's bed. He bounded onto it-making sure to land hard on the lumpy form under the covers. He giggled at the ensuing groan.

One bleary green opened.

"Gooooood mooooorning!" Alfred greeted.

"Five more minutes," Arthur smirked.

It was what Alfred usually begged whenever they booked twin beds at a hotel for a meeting and Arthur got up super crazy early.

Alfred pouted. Makin' fun of him first thing in the morning.

He wished he could stay miffed.

A warm hand brushed hair out of his eyes and he scrambled closer.

Morning hugs were the best. You were still tired enough to really sink into one. When you were awake and alert you were always careful not to lean too much of your weight in.

Warm hands settled on his head and back. One moved across his shoulders while the other settled gently in his hair.

The world was going wonderfully hazy and comfortable. He nearly panicked when he finally thought to check the clock.

"I can't stay!" He blurted and propped himself up on his elbows.

One great eyebrow rose perplexed.

"I gotta go get flowers." For you.

He'd already called downstairs to Mr. White to ready the car almost half an hour ago!

Dude, he was running behind now!

He'd woken up early this morning-determined to make the space between Yule and Christmas just as awesome. It was the least he could do. He'd even written a letter as the cherry on top. Tex would probably say it was a stupid, sappy thing to do and that he was rushing into things but…

He'd said he missed them...

From where he was resting, Alfred's eyes fell on the flowers he'd gathered for Arthur earlier in the week.

They seemed sadly out of place among all the rich ornate stuff on Arthur's dresser. His lamp had a tassel. A fancy freakin' tassel.

Strange how he hadn't noticed that this morning when he was standing on drawers, pilfering the iron ring from Arthur's jewelry box...valet box? Manly trinket box? Treasure chest! Miniature treasure chest!

Arthur lazily draped his arms around him and pulled him back in. The Briton yawned and told him to remember his gloves.

"-otherwise those poor fingers will turn to icicles."

Arthur ruffled his hair and then pulled him close again. Alfred felt a ping of envy at the stubble scratching his cheek. Tex and Mattie and Arthur and everybody made growing facial hair seem so easy. And given his form now it seemed like an even greater achievement.

Alfred exhaled through his nose, "I gotta go, so I can get back."

Arthur laughed and kissed his cheek, "Very well."

Alfred carefully slid down.

Arthur watched him as he went-green eyes bright even in the semi-darkness of a cold winter's morning.

"Don't get too filthy," Arthur murmured amused, "I've heard from someone of repute that flowers grow in dirt."

Alfred's cheeks puffed and he shook his head-Geez, his old man loved to poke at him.

"I won't," he replied confidently.

Cuz he was after fancy flowers! Flowers Arthur could put on display downstairs in front of everyone.

He wouldn't have to hide them away in his room because they were common and embarrassing.

After a quick detour to his room for his bright yellow raincoat, he was back on his way.

"Be careful, dear."

He gave a sloppy salute as he sped away, "Yup."

* * *

Arthur stretched a crick out of his neck as he began descending the staircase. He was quite pleased with how well Yule had gone but-he covered his mouth with a hand as he yawned-it was still rather exhausting.

Alfred had seemed dazzled by the whole event...which was very good. He hoped it would encourage Alfred to view all of their rituals so positively.

And the connection he felt with him now was so much stronger. Such a difference. He could appreciate now just how sickly poor Alfred had been.

He was almost grateful that the Wendigo Fiasco had occurred as it had. At least it had presented him the opportunity to make Alfred well. Once again, he felt a surge of anger towards Osha. She hadn't done anything of merit to treat Alfred's woefully low levels of magic.

He forced a calming breath.

Alfred was going to be alright now. After the child had fallen asleep, he'd spoken with his brothers. They could all finally sense Alfred and Alfred's magic was so obviously raw and young. He was certain Alfred's lessons would go much smoother now. His uncles would know better than to demand too much from him.

And if they didn't...Arthur would have to repeat his tackle from the previous night.

Alfred had told him as he was tucked in that Arthur was now welcome to have a Thanksgiving "American football" match.

" _I didn't have one this year cuz I was so behind and there were so many of you Europeans...I never thought you'd be able...to handle it...but that tackle…" Alfred grinned sleepily "That tackle...it was...really...cool...Daddy."_

He kept telling the boy Rugby was a rough sport...and the fact that he and his brothers would usually play it while drunk-meant all sorts of decent and humane rules were thrown out the window.

"Peter, you're cheating! I saw you take an extra step!"

He blinked and frowned as he glanced downward.

"Sealand, Wy," he scolded. "The stairs are not a suitable place for you to play."

Two young faces glanced his way and pouted.

"Now now, don't look at me like that. All the toys and games in this house and stairs are what fascinate you? Why not go outside and-"

"It's raining."

He looked over to the window.

Water splattered against the pane and thunder rumbled.

He meant to ask them how their movie night had gone and what film they'd chosen, because he didn't want any of the other children feeling left out that they couldn't participate in this year's Yule.

But before he could get the words out-he felt a spike of trepidation.

He'd had an unsettled feeling all morning.

Raining…

He stiffened.

Alfred wasn't still out there? Was he?

He'd catch pneumonia!

His heart began to pound-harder and faster with every breath.

What on earth?

No. No, he was fine. He was just outside in the garden. Right?

Then why did he seem so far away?

He clutched at the railing as vertigo assailed him.

Something was wrong...horribly wrong.

Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Like the shadow of a monstrous wave right before it crashed over the ship.

The tense moment right before the main mast snapped.

"Arthur? Arthur, are you okay?"

He grasped futilely at his chest.

Something in his chest.

It stretched more and more taut...and then snapped….and there was darkness.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or _The Piano Teacher_ by Janice Y. K. Lee. Or _The Nutcracker._ OrArthur Rankin Jr. movies like: _Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer_. Or _In the Heart of the Sea._ Or _Krampus._ Or _Lego._ Or _Cluedo._ Or _Candyland._ Or _Monopoloy._

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Brief reference to the first bombing of London by the Germans. Family flashbacks. Family drama. Repeat. Faaaaaaamily Draaaaama.

 **AN:** Hey all, I managed to whip this out. And now pity me...because tomorrow I'm gonna have to write three in-class essays aaaand have exams too...because life... : D Have fun with the cliffhanger while I try to survive until Friday (my final Final). Good luck to us all! : DDD

 **Chapter 50: Everything Unraveled**

* * *

Arthur groaned as he came to and then sighed. There was always something awfully unpleasant about waking up in a hospital bed.

O so _happy_ flashbacks of May 31, 1915 came to mind. Goddamn German zeppelins.

He frowned at the smell of antiseptic cleaning chemicals and old carpet and plastic.

Had he suffered some sort of terrorist attack?

No.

A sharp throb from his weak ankle told him why he was here. He tried to think back to what had happened, but the world went hazy.

Something about the stairs. If he'd tripped on another roller skate so help him he'd...

He blinked and shook his head. His vision swam leisurely, but he felt no panic at the lack of control.

He was pumped full of morphine. That was for certain. He glanced down at his injured foot-he wiggled the toes peeking out of a cast.

Helloooo down there.

"You've already been through surgery," Rhys informed him from his chair beside the bed. His hands were gripping the chair arms tightly. "You also needed stitches. The bone...came...er...through."

Fun, fun. What a marvelous holiday he was having? No romping about for him. A ping of melancholy over being "un-fun" swept through him at that.

Which was odd...Sealand preferred to play video games and Wy didn't like to be carried anymore.

Which was just as well. He couldn't afford to put too much weight on his injured foot. His heart ached and he blinked hard as emotion welled up in him.

What in the…? Damn medication-causing him chemical imbalances. He'd come to terms with all that ages ago.

"We've been given leave to take you home," Rhys swallowed. He seemed awfully pale or maybe it was the lighting.

Ah yes, one of the few true privileges of being a nation-it lit up on their screens that hospitals and jails weren't to detain you. It was one of the few good things about technology too. It used to take ages to have an agent sent out to argue for you...and humiliating when you'd just had one too many tankards for a night. The police knew now to just drive him home.

Arthur sat up. Good, it was good. He'd have hated to have to stay overnight. If given the choice, he'd always prefer to convalesce at home.

Hospitals would always be dreary places to him-for too long a time they'd been the step before the grave.

And seeing all his wards go in and out of them during the Great Wars made him resentful of them.

It was irritating though...needing Rhy's help to change into new set of clothes.

Usually, Reilley did that sort of thing-all while making unnecessary taunts like _"here your highness," "lemme help with that highness,"_ or _"O whoopsie, dear me, someone's buttoned all wrong."_

Reilley's help was still superior to Alistair's though. The man was quick and silent, that was true, but he'd be so rough as he dressed you, that you'd prefer the taunting. Reiley was at least gentle as he assisted.

Both were preferable to Rhys though...who was just awkward. His hands didn't quite want to make contact which made the whole task that bit more challenging.

"Had to discard the other trousers," Rhys offered. "Your ankle swelled. Had to cut you out."

England huffed as he sat back down. He'd been fond of that pair too.

He scowled at his patient wristband and suppressed the urge to rip it off.

Reilley knocked loudly on the wall beside the door. He grinned plastically from his spot in the doorway, "C'mon then, I signed you out." He gripped the handles of a hospital issue wheelchair. "Got yer wheels Cinderella."

His brother made an obnoxious _Vroomvroom_ sound-twisting his hands on the handles like it was a motorcycle. "The Ball awaits. Let's go. Yeh'll take yer lecture from the doctor-fairy-godmother and we'll be off. Back to...back to..." his expression faltered a bit "The...festivities."

"Want crutches," Arthur grumbled. It was enough for his ego that a minor tumble had resulted in him breaking a bone. To be wheeled out like some sort of invalid-absolutely not. He'd been injured far worse than this and still been out on the battlefield leading charges.

"Cenaw arth," Rhys murmured. "Don't be like that."

Arthur blinked and blushed at the pet name he hadn't heard since childhood.

It took him back to days of thatched roofs and roundhouses and wool clothes and wooden toys.

" _Come on, cenaw arth," Rhys entreated-exasperation tinging the tone of the gangly thirteen year old. He blew the messy, stringy fringe out of his face as best he could-since both of his hands were occupied. "Come on," he held the spoon up. It was pockmarked with bites because Albion's teeth were coming in and he took his frustrations out on the poor spoon._

" _Come on."_

 _Albion scrunched up his nose and blew his tongue-leaning back hard-away from the person holding him._

 _Rhys had to compensate for his weight, or he'd have fallen hard onto the ground. As it was, the older boy decided to sit down on one the woven mats. That way if Albion repeated the stunt and he wasn't quick enough, the child would only be a short distance from the floor._

" _Such an angry little bear," Rhys muttered. "How do you know you don't like it? Yeh've not even risked a bite, yet."_

 _Alba's frowning face came into view over Rhys's shoulder, "Albion." He sucked in a breath through flared nostrils and ordered, "Eat it."_

 _Young Albion shuddered at his most intimidating brother._

" _Alba…" Rhys sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeh can't just force a bairn to-"_

" _Aye, I can. Yeh keep lettin' him think he has a choice about it," the seven year old huffed hands on his hips. "If he does not eat, he'll fuss. He will. He's got to eat. He's got to." He drew his eyebrows together menacingly and glared._

" _Alba, stop that. Yer face'll freeze like the pond and everyone in town'll say: Ugh, it's that Alba the Unpleasant-"_

" _They already say that."_

" _They'll say it in lands that have yet to meet you."_

" _...no they won't...yer tellin' tales..."_

" _I'm prophesying."_

" _I'll eat it," a young Reilley volunteered._

" _Eire!"_

" _Eire!"_

" _I don't mind that it's mushy. Mam says we cannot go till he eats. He ain't goin' to eat. Cuz he was born cross. And when yer born cross yeh live to make folk unhappy."_

" _Eire tha's terrible-who told yeh that? You tell me now-"_

" _Let Eire eat it," Alba nodded. "He's right."_

" _No! Now go on, yeh little goblins. Get. Go. Out. Now."_

" _Mam says-"_

" _Mam can take it up with me, Eire. I say you two can go…" Rhys settled. "But Alba...yeh hafta hold his hand."_

" _Aye, ya hafta hold my-"_

" _Ack! Nooo. Yer a sticky muck monster from the loch-"_

" _Alba!" Rhys scolded._

" _And yer...IT!" Scotland gave Ireland a playful push and the two went running and screeching outside._

 _Albion whimpered. He wanted to go outside. He pointed his chubby finger where he wanted to be._

 _Rhys sighed and stared him in the eye, "Will yeh eat outside then?"_

Hazel eyes were watching him intently.

Arthur blinked several times-Rhys didn't usually volunteer memories like that to him. Memories where they almost seemed like some ordinary human family...

It was...unexpected...it was...comforting...it was...patronizing.

"F-fiiiine," England spat blandly. Angry at having a soft spot prodded. "But-but yer over-overreacting. Not the firs' not the firs'...I... I've...I...perfectly" he was getting flustered at the unblinking hazel gaze "Humph."

After an awkward ride in the elevator, he'd nodded vacantly through Dr. Chhabra's regiment. He passed the paperwork to Rhys who pocketed it.

Yes. Yes. PRICE.

Protection. Yes.

Rest. Yes.

Ice. Yes.

Compression.

Elevation.

Right-o.

And showering would be a pain in the arse. Yes. He's had broken bones before. Thank you.

And yes. Medication. God bless medication. Yes, they were heading to the pharmacy now for some happy pills.

He was going to need them.

One long queue and then they were truly off.

He was surprised that Reilley didn't try anything in the parking lot. Usually, he made a big show of losing control of the wheelchair and just when it seemed like Arthur was in imminent danger of running into a vehicle or falling off the curve, he'd dive back in and set things right.

No, they just strolled out with Reilley being unusually mature as Rhys phoned the British Parliament and the Royal Family on his cell-letting them know that Arthur was alright.

Rhys nodded, "Yes. Yes, I'll let him know. I see...yes, if you could continue trying to make contact, we'd appreciate it. Yes, we'll need to discuss it as soon as possible. The current arrangement is unacceptable. Thank you."

The Welshman slipped his phone back into his pocket and gave Arthur a nod.

The car ride was strangely peaceful. Arthur had been given an insane amount of blankets that Reilley had apparently bought on sale. The Irishman had waltzed about the city while his brother was in surgery and decided to buy blankets. They had stupid cartoonish figures on them, but they were soft and warm.

Calm orchestral music filled the silence. Though...Rhys was seated uncomfortably close to him and he kept twisting the paper bag holding Arthur's prescription.

Now and then he'd pop some Tums and chew them methodically.

Neurotic thing.

Arthur turned on his side and watched the dark sky against the shadowy swaying outlines of tree tops. Every now and then a strong gust of wind would push at the vehicle.

The sun had gone down a while ago. He'd missed out on the whole day.

A shame; he'd really wanted to make today a bonding day with the children. They usually held a Christmas movie marathon and indulged in warm treats and cocoa.

It was usually a relaxing way to spend the day following Yule-all the little ones gathered around him. It was such a pleasure getting to have them so near and the festivity of Christmas put everyone into a fine mood. If he nodded off during _White Christmas_ he'd usually awaken with Hong Kong or Barbados leaning against him or Camelot curled up in his lap.

That was the way to follow up Yule.

Instead, he found himself trapped in the company of his brothers...both of whom smelled suspiciously like they were in need of a shower.

Arthur sighed and hissed as he jostled his foot.

Rhys froze and watched him like he hardly dared to breathe and Reilley was sneaking glances through the rear view mirror.

What in the world?

He was tempted to make a malicious joke about Irish chauffeurs and Welsh nannies to get them to act more normal, but his brain wasn't working well enough to be witty.

Something was off.

Reaching the manor didn't dissipate the solemn mood, and his brothers were quiet as they carried him and his wheelchair up the steps to the front door.

There was a curious assortment of baskets piled near the door; fish, flowers, wreaths, bread, candles. The fae were paying tribute. Strange, they almost looked like bereav-

The hazy feeling fell more heavily over him. He was exhausted. He didn't have time to worry about all this. He needed to go in, rest up, and prepare himself for tomorrow. They had tickets to _The Nutcracker._ They weren't going to miss it on account of him. If he healed enough during the night, they wouldn't have to haul around a wheelchair for him and he needn't fear being separated from his group for the performance.

Alistair immediately opened the front door as they approached-suggesting he'd been there waiting for them.

Which was...odd.

The Scotsman stared at Arthur. His gray eyes swept over to Reilley and then to Rhys. It was like they were having a whole bloody eyeball conversation.

Arthur was getting steadily more frustrated. He crossed his arms irritably.

Alistair blew out a long whistling breath.

Arthur's mouth slackened in surprise; his brother usually only did that when he'd been teaching staff and pike fighting to the girls and one got him 'tween the legs by accident. The boys he'd swear at for such a mistake, but the girls…

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and didn't make eye contact, "Livvie and the rest got the cream parlor all set up for yeh. So yeh won't have to deal with the stairs."

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the thought of being tucked away in a small room over his luxurious suite but after being wheeled over to it...he was delighted by how well it'd been made over. Cream with dark red velvet. Ah, the colors of England. The room had been tailored with him in mind.

Olivia had such fine taste.

Still, there seemed to be something missing.

He glanced around unsurely.

There was one good sized bed in the middle and it looked like a wardrobe had been moved in to accommodate him for the time.

It looked quite sophisticated.

Elegant.

Adult.

For some reason his fingers dug into the childish, cartoon blankets and drew them tightly around himself.

He couldn't fend off a chill that had breezed through his heart.

"Ar-arthur?" Peter murmured from a distance.

He turned to see pairs of eyes peeking at him from around the corner.

He chuckled and blissful, longed for, warmth seeped in-even headier than the medication he was on.

"S'alright, children; I'm perf'ctly fiiiine," he slurred as he gave a little wave.

He half-hoped for a hug, but no one came forward. Probably out of fear of doing more harm to him.

They stared at him doubtfully and made no comment-disappearing from sight to huddle and hold hushed conversations.

Goodness. They always overreacted.

It was a difficult part of being a guardian. Children viewed you as something infallible-when injury came upon you-it rocked their whole world.

When he was settled in, he'd see what he could do about their distress. He was tired of course, but he didn't want them worrying themselves sick.

Something tugged at him and he felt an ominous pull on his metaphorical apron strings-he glanced back over to the children who'd reappeared in a gaggle to watch him.

Green eyes flitted from one face to another as he did a headcount.

Sealand. Wy. Hong Kong. Barbados. Australia. New Zealand. Jamaica. Seychelles...

Canada! Yes, Canada was there. Sooo...wait...wait...something...someone…

His eyebrows furrowed.

Something was wrong.

Ten.

He was supposed to have ten.

Where was number ten?

"I'm…" missing one… "Where…?"

He was cut off by Alistair lifting him onto the bed. The greater shock was that his brother didn't complain, instead he just walked back over to the doorframe and stared broodingly out at the children.

Arthur frowned as Rhys pulled the blankets over him.

Alright, things were just getting bizarre.

"Oi, wot's with you lot?" he demanded.

"We're just...waiting for the best...moment. That's all" Rhys muttered. "Alistair, the door."

The Scotsman silently went over to shut it. No comment was made on him being "the maid."

Reilley paced about before going over to a white faux aged dresser. He tapped his fingers-drumming out a beat that Arthur half-recognized but couldn't place.

Yankee...Doodle?

The hazy blanket feeling increased. Like he was caught in a ball of yarn...wouldn't that just be a dream come true for Camelot? Heh, heh...

He frowned.

It wasn't the medication that was making him feel like this.

He glared at Rhys who immediately ducked his head and stared at the floor.

"Stop it."

Rhys swallowed again, "I just...I don't think...not yet...not until...O Arthur, I warned you about…" Rhys began smoothing the covers as he continued muttering, "I warned you. I did. But you never and now…"

Arthur shoved his hands away.

"Artair," Alistair mumbled.

He hadn't heard his name pronounced that way for some time. Not with that sigh of...dare he say it...concern?

"Blast it all," Alistair sat down heavily on the bed. "Dammit, it's always gotta be me. Yeh couldn't do it over there?"

Reilley and Rhys made no motion to correct him or intervene.

What was he going on about?

"Look," Alistair scowled as he stared him in the face-dark red eyebrows drawn together fiercely. "Look...there…" he paused and took a deep breath and forged on. "There...was an accident."

Arthur raised a bushy brow, looked down at his foot and dryly replied, "You don't say?"

Alistair reached over and flicked his ear, "Not you."

Arthur stiffened and sat up, "Wot?"

Oh God, he hoped nothing had happened to the Royal Family. They'd dealt with enough over the past few decades. They deserved a respite.

"It was just an accident. T'wasn't anybody's fault, ya see. Before you get any ideas, I need yeh to know that. Lady just didn't see 'im, yeh follow me?"

Arthur stared.

"He's wee now, he forgets that. And he was in town and it's busy now. With Christmas so close, it's damned busy now. You know how it gets. He darted out. She just didn't see him," for a moment Alistair just chewed a bit of dry skin from the corner of his heavily calloused thumb.

Breathe. Take a breath. Breathe.

Alistair ran that hand through his hair, "Ya understand? It was an accident. It was just an awful accident. None o' us even knew he was goin' out or we'd've gone. It gets so mad out there, tis dangerous to go alone fer anyone. Let alone..."

Alistair broke off.

Arthur shook his head and dug his fingers into the covers. No. Nooo…

There. In his chest. The chord...the chord that had distressed him earlier. He followed it to where it stopped. Where it felt like a great stone wall had dropped and separated them-No. Nonononono.

He was under there. He was under. Being crushed. He had to lift it off him somehow.

Alistair blew out another long breath. "Rhys. You can quit shielding now." Gray eyes looked into green apologetically, "He didn't want it to be the first thing yeh felt."

* * *

Canada sat with his knee bouncing nervously. He fiddled with the cords on his sweatshirt and then cleaned his glasses compulsively.

"Do you think they told him?" Sealand asked in a hushed voice for the upteenth time. "Do you think they told him yet? He didn't seem like he knew. I mean…he came in and he seemed...I don't think they told him, yet. Do you think we should ask the officer to come back? He knew everything, maybe-"

Jet sat down between Sealand and Wy and wrapped an arm around each micronation. Both children leaned into the comforting hold.

Olivia was sitting on a settee, her face in her hands, "My fat mouth. If I hadn't...he'd have just gone outside and gathered some weeds and we wouldn't be..."

Jamaica sat beside her and took her hand-patting it, "Don't take all the blame. None o' us went with him, I didn't. I saw him this mornin', I asked what he was up to, but I didn't go."

Canada ran a hand through his hair.

Jake mechanically selected another Arthur Rankin Jr. movie and hit play on the DVD player. He was holding onto the Christmas movie marathon tradition...because it was something to do. He amused himself by changing the language settings. It didn't matter. No one was watching.

Hong Kong was staring intently at his book, _The Piano Teacher_ by Janice Y. K. Lee, he'd turn a page now and then but…well...the book was upside down and had been for the past half hour.

To think...this morning, Canada had been arguing with Texas over _In The Heart of the Sea_.

He'd been more than a little peeved with the Texan. Not only had he been a terrible movie-goer…

He snacked loudly, hogged the chair arms, didn't bother to whisper when he had something to say, propped his feet up...and he just didn't GET IT. Arthur and Alfred would've gotten it.

Tex complained that the film was boring and wished that they'd gone to _Krampus_ instead.

Mathieu was beginning to question if Texas read any classical literature at all when his Southwestern brother abruptly stood up and left the room. In fact, he left the house altogether through the servant wing. He swiped a pair of keys from the servant's rack, got into the spare service car, and drove off. Without telling anyone anything.

One minute they'd been talking and the next…

Something steely slid over Tex's expression. His jaw clamped shut and he stared straight ahead.

He stood up-chair screeching behind him and walked determinedly away-fists clenched at his sides. He didn't even come back for his hat which was perched on the chair beside him since he was "holding" the spot for Alfred. He'd been determined to wait at the table until Alfred came for breakfast. And earlier Canada had felt a smidge of envy at that and the way he drew out eating-so it would seem like he'd just started when Alfred finally dropped in.

At first, Canada feared that he'd upset him. That he'd managed to alienate two brothers in one holiday. He scrambled out of his chair and chased after him in order to apologize, but then total chaos erupted. Cries from the entryway had him backtracking. He'd figured that he could make it up to Tex later.

He'd arrived half a step behind Rhys to find Arthur unconscious at the foot of the stairs.

His main job then had been wrangling a frantic Wy and Sealand out of the area as Wales took over.

The mystery surrounding Tex's sudden departure was revisited when Spain entered the fray. Mathieu tried to explain that he didn't know where Texas had gone, but Spain wouldn't have it.

" _How can you not know where he is? He spent all last night with you. I saw you. Not wanting to sit with us. You were the cool amigos. He'd tell you where he was going."_

But he didn't. He just left. Breakfast plate half eaten. Hat abandoned.

Mexico and Southern Italy in a combined effort managed to get their ex-colonizer off Canada's back with suggestions that he make inquiries to the American Embassy.

It was only because Spain doggedly called them and was friends with Stuart that they eventually confirmed that he'd made it there safely. Attempts to find out why he'd gone there were stonewalled.

It was several hours later in the aftermath of Tex's departure and Arthur's emergency trip to the hospital, that the officer arrived.

Mathieu had been the one to answer the door before Scotland commandeered the spot and told him to go sit down. That Scotland had gotten a phone call and could Mathieu just go sit down already?!

He retreated to the hall to eavesdrop with Jamaica, Australia, and New Zealand. Barbados and Seychelles were doing their best to keep Sealand and Wy away from it all. Peter still managed to slip in near the end though.

Mathieu checked his phone. Texas hadn't responded to any of his texts or calls.

He gasped as it buzzed with an incoming text.

Francis.

 _Appelle-moi dès que possible._

Not Texas.

It buzzed again.

 _Je m'inquiète pour toi._

Seychelles had called Francis about the whole thing and now the man kept insisting that he call him so they could talk.

He wasn't sure he could do it though.

After having such heavily negative thoughts about Alfred for so much of the holiday, having something terrible happen to him…

It felt like it was his fault.

There was a lump in his throat.

Like he'd willed this to happen somehow.

Mon Dieu…

He looked over at the nearby armchair. Eva was sitting there with her knees pulled up. She looked almost as miserable as he felt.

She'd still been asleep when Alfred went off that morning.

Her only response had been to say: _"I wasn't even on the job a full day...and I failed."_

Then she'd gone quiet and stayed quiet.

Mr. Gray had tried plying her with tea but to no avail. Three full, now cold, cups were sitting near her on a small table.

And there'd been a scene when Mr. White finally returned to the house. He'd resigned on the spot. Gathered all his things in a cardboard box and left in a hurry-ignoring Mr. Gray's pleas to wait, to talk with Master Arthur, to reconsider. No one was blaming him. But he wouldn't stay.

He just asked that Mr. Gray tell Master Kirkland how _**sorry**_ he was.

And then all the vines in the house died.

All the time spent fighting and tripping over them these past few days and they just...

The stench of rotting flora made the halls seem musty and claustrophobic.

He'd gone for a walk to the garden to clear his head only...the garden...

There were no flowers. There were hardly even any leaves. Hell, there weren't even any weeds now?!

He'd stared blankly at the barren sight for several minutes before realizing Mr. Gray was out there too.

He was sitting tiredly on a stone bench. He nodded and moved over to make space.

He shook his head and gestured around them, _"He was keeping Winter from it. It was unseasonably warm for the time of year, but...I should've realized sooner...it was magic that was keeping the frost away..."_

" _All the vines are dying," Mathieu had responded._

 _He nodded, "the vegetable garden's...going too. Just...blackening...with rot and...Ah...well then...if the vines are...I suppose we can...get those all cleared out now. It'll give everyone something to do."_

Within hours the vines dried up and disintegrated at the lightest touch.

He'd watched numbly as brooms and dustpans swept it all away.

Replacement glass arrived in the late afternoon for the windows that had been broken during the Goblin Raid, and bit by bit...all the traces of Alfred's misadventures vanished.

Scratches on the hardwood floors were filled in and the Lego Statue of Liberty had been completed and disassembled by Wy and Peter. The Lego Box and the Monopoly Box were tucked out of sight behind Cluedo and Candyland.

Americat leapt onto his lap and he tried to keep still enough that the cat could make use of him as a substitute.

He pet the furry ears and the ruff around its throat and stared blankly at _Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer_ on the television screen.

From his peripheral vision he watched Olivia shakily accept a teacup from Mr. Gray's tray as he made his rounds about the room.

It rattled in its saucer as she held it.

He tucked two fingers under the cat's collar to scratch at the skin there. The Main Coon purred and pressed its body against him affectionately.

With everyone gathered in the room…

With the T.V. on, and the heater going, with a cat on his lap, and the smell of tea lingering in the air...

You could almost see the memories of every other Winter Holiday superimposed over this moment.

Like a veil. Like a mirage.

It could almost make you overlook the fact that everyone's expressions were wrong.

And then everything unraveled when there was a horrible scream from down the hall. The closed door, and the walls, and the T.V.'s Spanish Audio wasn't enough to muffle it.

Olivia dropped her cup and the porcelain shattered on the wood floor. The liquid puddled and spread until it reached the fringed edge of an oriental rug.

The cat jumped off, its collar tags jingling as it scampered away...the rest of them stayed frozen and silent.

It was several heartbeats before the spell of shock wore off Wy and she leaned over Jett to tell Peter authoritatively, "They told him."

That Alfred had been struck and killed by a car as he left the florist's shop that morning.

* * *

Read & Review Please : D


	51. Chapter 51

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or _The Nutcracker._ Or the song _I'll Be Home For Christmas._

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Norman Invasion. Floating Angst. Sharp Angst. Family drama.

 **AN:** Hey all! Finals are over. Hallelujah! Thanks for the reviews and well-wishes. It was nice to have people in my corner.

: DDD Thanks for being patient! And I hope you enjoy this chap!

 **Chapter 51: Handled**

* * *

Reilley was the last one to file out of Arthur's makeshift bedroom.

He'd finally skirted around the bed when he realized he just had nothing assuring to say.

He closed the door behind him and then froze...unprepared for the gaggle of concerned wards coming toward them.

He waved Mathieu and Olivia away, "Uh...let him...let him alone. Give him some air, ya know? Uh yeah...he's...you know…" He glanced hesitantly at the door. Miserable. Arthur was miserable. Aye, the audible crying sounds in the room next to them was making it difficult to pretend otherwise.

Really, how was he going to play down the level of despair Arthur was feeling? Dammit, this was a legitimate moment of weakness that Arthur had NOT brought on himself through doing something stupid. Which meant he deserved privacy. "But...I don't think now's the time to...er-"

C'mon Gift of Gab-articulate!

"Clear out, all o' yeh. Out. Nuttin' fer you here," Scotland groused "He wants yeh. He'll tell me. I'll fetch yeh. Till then. Back. Back, you!"

It was a subdued night. With Arthur's, Texas's, and...of course...Alfred's empty seats at the dinner table-there wasn't much cheer.

Reilley carefully removed a smudge from his goblet.

It wasn't fair...just when they finally had a good sense of Alfred...

Reilley sighed, like radar, the blip was just gone…target destroyed.

He'd pause every few bites to stare at where Arthur ought to be pompously discussing Coleridge or Tchaikovsky or something. Sure his brother was an obnoxious, pompous twit and Christmas was often a balancing act of stroking his ego by following his orders and coddling his wards to keep him from being an overbearing, complaining arse but...

But he'd never have wisht this on him.

He's delivered bad news to him before. Watched others do it. Sometimes took a bit of malicious pleasure in it depending on the era.

It usually consisted in England stiffening as he absorbed the blow and then moving on-taking inventory of the rest of the situation and planning a counter attack.

It wasn't like the cabin when they'd thought...thought that...Alfred had…

He shuddered as he remembered the broken body that had rested on the operating table like a shattered clay bowl.

This was just a temporary death. He'd be back. A matter of hours...unless it'd been a really bad crash...

Admittedly, he didn't know all the details. Alistair told them enough. Not all...but enough.

When Rhys asked if Alfred had suffered, he said no.

He was careful not to respond too fast or too slow. He stayed composed…

Said it was instantaneous.

Didn't move or blink as he delivered the line.

It might've worked for a human who didn't really want to hear how the soldier of their family met his demise but…

Rhys flat out told him just to avoid bringing it up to Arthur. To just leave the room if he asked.

That howl…

Reilley shuddered-recalling the sound...

It didn't take much to convince everyone to turn in early. If only to escape Alistair plying them with tea. The idgit seemed to believe tea could make anything swallowable.

"Everythin' will be better in the mornin'" was the lie all three found themselves repeating.

Rhys decided to stay up waiting for _the_ call.

"When yeh hear word, tell me," Alistair insisted. "I can go fetch him. Regardless if he's...back or not. You two took Art to hospital. Yer done. I'm the reserve. I can go."

It was a good plan. Fair.

Rhys had driven them to the hospital. Reilley had driven them back.

Rhys had shielded Arthur from the break for as long as he could. Reilley had comforted the children after dinner. They'd gone through the game boards and tidied them up-making sure pieces were accounted for, rescuing cards that wound up in the wrong boxes, jotting down what couldn't be found so Reilley or Arthur could order a replacement online.

Cleaning was a monotonous task. It was so damn dull it could leech the feeling out of any charged moment. Sure enough, it got them all to talking and he assured that Alfred would be back soon and Arthur would be fine. They both just needed a little time, so the rest of them just needed to be a little patient. Spelling things out that way made it all simple. Simple was manageable.

Alistair couldn't help with that sort of thing. He was a man of action-a pacer, a teamaker, an avenger. If it had been anything other than an accident the human would've been dealt with.

Yes; fetching Alfred would give Alistair an equal part to do. He was still feeling guilty over Yule.

Later on, he and Scot smoked for a bit in the cold night air. Alistair spent a good deal of the time cursing Mr. White.

"He had no right...goin' off without clearing it," Alistair muttered darkly. "And then he didn't even bother to see him to or from or-he's lucky I was on the phone and he just got to deal with Gray...I'd've told him what fer!"

With all the smoke and rancor he was breathing out, he may as well have been a bloody dragon.

"For the love of God...S'just an accident," Reilley sighed. "Stupid...accident..."

Stupid accident that was tragic as hell.

Alistair's mouth twisted like he really wanted to argue, but he changed the subject instead, "...my cards are tellin' me gibberish."

"Hm?"

"I tried to do a reading earlier and...I dunno...consult your runes when you can."

Reilley ground the butt of his cigarette against the balcony railing and then scrubbed the ash off with his fingers, "Alis...some things just...aren't going to make sense…no matter how much yeh want them to."

He waited up with Scot for a few more hours before hitting the sack. Hopeful that his nephew would be returned to them by morning.

But the call never came.

And the cord connecting them remained taut-like a stupid little game of phone where someone was stepping on the line connecting their soup cans.

Alfred always liked kiddie games like that...and now he no longer wondered why...

All too soon it was time to hassle with breakfast.

"Maybe we should get Alistair to bring it…and to threaten," Reilley suggested.

Mr. Gray had informed them that no one got Arthur to eat dinner the previous day.

"My bedside manner," Alistair nodded confidently. "It's a fearsome thing."

Indeed, it was. He could vividly remember being force fed by the Scotsmen when he'd refused meals following a crushing defeat from those damned Normans.

Damn those Normans.

He blinked and looked over at Rhys.

Damn it, whenever Rhys was thinking about Normans the rest of them started thinking about them.

Northern Ireland frowned at Scotland, "He's thinking about Nor-"

" _I_ didn't get conquered," Scotland smirked. "It doesn't bother _**me**_."

"Fecking soulless Ginger," Reilley grumbled.

"Like lookin' at a more handsome mirror, eh?"

"Ha! More like a carnival!"

Rhys picked up the tray.

" _ **I**_ will deliver it," Rhys announced and walked briskly down the hall-leaving his brothers to stare after him.

* * *

To say Rhys was stunned as he entered the room was an understatement.

He found Arthur dressed and hobbling about on an old pair of crutches. He must've had a servant pull them out of the storage room.

And there were rolls of wrapping paper and ribbon. He glanced to where a pile of presents had been stacked. Had he been wrapping all night?

"We're going to _The Nutcracker,_ " Arthur told him flatly.

"Arthur…"

This wasn't the time to force things.

"He's not back...and now I...I doubt we're getting a call…" Arthur braced himself against the dresser. "They may have already transported him back to the States and...the other children…" Arthur looked up at the dresser top's mirror and stared into his own reflection's eyes, "I can't...I can't just...the world never stops just because...I can't neglect them...just because...we're going," Arthur repeated "Get the children ready. If Wy wants her hair styled, she needs to be down in the next half hour."

"...Right. Now...eat."

Arthur looked dispassionately at the tray.

Rhys proffered it at him more insistently.

His brother sighed and took the toast and waved him off as he reached for where a tie and cufflinks were waiting.

Two hours later, Rhys found himself fighting the urge to fidget. Arthur had sent Eva off with instructions to return on the morning of the ball. Hopefully, Alfred would have returned by then.

" _Arthur…" she mumbled-lines of worry on her face. "Arthur...I…"_

" _It's Christmas Eve," Arthur announced blithely. "You should've left yesterday. I thought we had that planned out. You need to be with your little girl."_

" _...Arthur…"_

" _As I've already explained, it's just...a temporary phase. He'll be back."_

 _She hesitated and then rested a hand on his shoulder, "I feel terrible about-"_

" _No no, not a word more on that. Tell Emma Happy Christmas, won't you? Give her this," He held out a small sparkly bag. "From one unicorn aficionado to another."_

 _Eva sighed and took the gift, "Please, call. Whenever he's back. I mean it. Three in the morning. That's fine. Or even if you just want to talk. Call."_

" _I daresay there will be traffic, if you don't time it right. Off with you now."_

" _Please call me, Artie. Say you will."_

Rhys stared grimly at his bottle of Tums. He was running low.

He sighed.

It was like battling invading Normans with Gruffydd-trying to convince himself that they would win back their land.

Only here, he was trying to convince himself that the tug of war game they were playing with Tragedy wouldn't ruin the holiday so completely that a shadow would loom over it ever after.

He watched Jet and Jake share looks as the latter pulled at his collar.

"Here Jake, let me help with that tie," Arthur demanded.

The young man shuffled forward and let the Englishman redo it.

"It's important not to tie it too tight. One should always aim for fashion and function when possible."

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good lad, now step back. Let me take a look. Ah. Very nice. Very nice, indeed."

England brushed an imaginary spec from New Zealand's shoulder before giving him a nod of dismissal.

It usually would've been cause for teasing, but Arthur had been full of parental helpfulness.

No one had gone un-mothered as it were.

No one dared struggle against it.

Not when his green eyes were so bloodshot and his carriage (despite his best attempts to stand up straight) seemed so...defeated.

"Inglaterra," Spain began compassionately-crossing the room to rest a hand on England's elbow. "I know how terrible-I _**know**_...but he is resilient and you have to take comfort in that. All you can do now is be ready and know that we're ready too and-"

"God, tomato-bastard!" Lovino cut him off and punched him in the arm. "You're smothering him! Leave him the hell alone!"

"We're going out," Arthur interrupted-taking a step back and letting Antonio's hand fall away. "You...all...will stay. Mr. Gray and the household will attend you and yours. Must be going now. Terribly busy. If we want to arrive in time, we must go now."

"I will let you know if I learn anything!" Antonio vowed passionately.

"I won't let them break anything," Mexico promised softly.

Rhys watched his youngest brother give a sharp nod and limp as he led his company out.

After seeing everyone seated on the bus, Arthur stood up at his seat at the front.

"We're going to the ballet and I expect everyone to be on their best behavior, is that understood?"

It was the usual speech he made on an outing to a formal place.

As the years passed, the response and respect it garnered gradually wore down. It was usually met with eye rolls and scoffs and weary agreement.

This time there was a smattering of submissive, "Yes sir's".

Like it was the 1800s again...

"Good."

He sat down-spine erect, injured leg crossed on top, fingers laced tightly.

A pair of crutches and a wheelchair had been packed as precaution, but Arthur insisted that all he needed was his cane.

It was a fashionable one he'd used while healing up from the Crimean War. It was one the children knew well. He was trying to establish familiarity.

"Arthur…" Alistair grumbled "Just use the goddamn wheelchair."

"No; I'm just going to be sitting."

"Art-"

"I said NO."

"Ack...have it your way, I ain't carryin' you when you get exhausted."

Rhys watched it all with tense nerves-he needed to be prepared to step in at any time.

Arthur was on the brink. He could sense it.

Wy and Sealand were such good sports as they crossed the street. Sealand had to hold Wy's hand and Wy had to hold Arthur's. And there was minimal fuss as they settled into their seats. Peter only had to be warned once not to fold his program into an airplane.

The orchestra was quite good, though Rhys's slight headache (from lack of sleep) kept him from fully appreciating it...you know...along with the soul crushing guilt he felt.

But there was nothing to be done about that and so he focused his full attention on the present.

The reality was...

He couldn't do anything for Alfred, so Arthur became the priority again.

They were well into Act II when it happened.

Arthur scrambled to leave-nearly breaking his other ankle as he fled down the stairs.

Thankfully, Rhys had left his seat as soon as Arthur moved and was able to catch him.

He helped his brother out of the dark theatre and dismissed ushers who were starting to approach in concern.

"I'm sorry I…" Arthur rasped "I thought I could do it...I really thought...but Mother Ginger...and the parents all pulled out their phones to record...and Mother Ginger and all her little ones and..I-I...I..."

Rhys pursed his lips and gave a grim nod. They waited out the end of the production in the lobby.

* * *

Arthur pushed food around his plate. He really ought to manage a few more bites. The restaurant was expensive (its menu boasted enough French selections to warrant the addition of several extra pounds to the bill), he ought to eat a bit more.

He eyed the wine bottle next to Rhys. He'd need to reach across in order to get it, which he doubted would go unnoticed.

Hazel eyes locked with his, moved to the bottle, and then back to him.

Arthur's gaze returned to his plate.

It was good to eat here. Considering the French influence several of his wards had, they'd definitely benefit from it. He was trying to be better about that sort of thing. Truly.

It was good that they were here. Now. He wouldn't have to hear America complain about eating food he couldn't pronounce the name of.

It was good.

He blinked hard.

God, he felt like a ship with an awful breach.

He felt like the goddamned Titanic, but he was determined to do as the orchestra had...and continue playing for the sake of those around him.

They were all so subdued.

He had to fix that.

What happened was a tragedy for him to grieve. Not them. It was his fault. They were just children. They needed to enjoy their Christmas.

He needed to convince them. They were in good hands. They were safe. He wouldn't let _anything_ befall them.

He bought more candy than they needed at a highline boutique, treated Wy and Sealand to toys, bought each of his wards a new movie or book of their choosing, and carefully selected a hardcover edition of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ and a soft plush toy before they returned to the bus _._

He made sure festive Christmas music played on the ride home.

"Come on now, we...we need to decorate the tree now," Arthur announced as he limped over the threshold. His foot was smarting terribly after so much walking, but medication could ease that. That was just physical pain.

"Come on now, come in. Out of the cold."

He'd instructed the staff to have the boxes waiting for them when they returned.

"Arthur, we can wait," Jet murmured as he removed his coat.

"No," he swallowed "No. We...we should've decorated the tree yesterday. We'll...do so now."

"Arthur..."

"Otherwise, you won't get to enjoy it tomorrow."

Arthur smiled blandly at the artificial tree.

He'd planned on having two trees this year. This one and a real one, since Alfred was fond of the "real thing." He and Alistair and Arthur would've gone to the wood's edge and selected a small suitable one.

But that didn't happen yesterday.

Arthur stared numbly at the white lights of the artificial tree.

It didn't shed any needles and came pre-lit, which meant everything was nice and clean.

The ornaments were hung in a fairly orderly fashion, though there was a bit of drama over whether Wy or Sealand would get to be the one who placed the star on top.

The squabble added a bit of much needed normalcy and he sat back and watched and tried to feign cheer.

Tried to pretend this was just one more Christmas they'd be apart because Alfred was terribly busy and still estranged rather than...

Tried not to be upset when Peter noticed the element he'd forgotten. The detail he'd scrambled to add a few days back.

All the children had a special ornament.

Olivia had ballet shoes. Peter had a sailboat. Wy had an art palette.

It was an old tradition, he'd kept alive ever since…

Arthur forced a tight smile as he stretched his hand out.

Peter hesitated as he came forward.

"Thank you, Peter. I'll hold onto that one, shall I?"

He set the old flower-shaped ornament beside the television remote.

Wooden and chipped. Alfred's name was barely legible on it. He'd carved it for Alfred when he'd learnt of the boy's obsession for the flower. When the whole situation had been...fully explained...he'd offered to make something else.

" _No...tis good to remember, isn't it? And this means...this means..._ _ **you'll**_ _always remember_ _ **me**_ _, right? Daddy, do you promise?"_

He asked Peter to turn some music on for them which the boy gladly did.

And all was...almost well until…

Until...

" _I'll be home for Christmas…If only in...my...dreams…"_

He took great care not to look at the wooden Forget-me-not on the table beside him.

Perhaps…

Perhaps he ought to go...rest...for a moment...or five...or get some air...or get...somewhere...

He stood up unsteadily-leaning heavily on his cane.

Mr. Gray came in, "Sir, we had a call from a Ms. Jones just now. She hung up and said she was going to try your personal-"

Arthur's cell rang.

He scrambled to answer, "Hello?"

" _Arth-"_

Mathieu shocked him by plucking the phone from his hand.

"Boy?" He snarled. "What are you-"

"Momilani..do face chat," the Canadian demanded.

" _Well...I…"_

Arthur stared and then found himself nodding.

Yes...yes...they deserved an explanation...face to face...

Canada walked over to the television and fiddled with it and after a few tense moments, the Hawaiian woman's face filled the screen.

Mathieu slipped the cellphone back to Arthur.

Correctly guessing that she was now addressing a room, she gave a weak smile, _"Aloha everyone. We've just arrived in the U.K. and I hope everyone's doing alr-"_

Arthur swore, "Bugger."

That was right. Their flight was scheduled to arrive today.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "Momilani, I'm sorry I-"

" _Nonono. No, Alaska and I went straight over to the Embassy."_

Arthur's mouth went dry, but he forced out, "...Is he there?"

He was mildly aware of Alistair and Rhys walking over to flank him.

" _Doubt it,_ " the woman answered breezily. " _Anyway, it may be a while before we come by the manor. Gotta pick up some things. Grab stocking stuffers. Get a few things handled. Maybe by tomorrow night or the day aft-"_

No. No, she didn't get to pretend like nothing happened. When he could read in the bags under her eyes that she knew more than she was letting on!

"Where IS he?" He hissed.

Her voice took on a hard edge, " _I don't KNOW Arthur. We won't know until Texas is sworn in as temporary head. Blame America, he's the one that set it up this way. Frickin' bureaucracy. Look. We'll finish this. We'll get Alfred's coordinates and then I can relay them to you."_

"No one knows where he is? You don't have any clue?" His voice shook. Bloody hell, what was the matter with these people?! No wonder he'd had to go rescue Alfred himself. The lot surrounding him was completely incompetent.

" _No Artie, we don't,"_ she snapped.

"Stupid co-"

" _England,"_ Alaska cut in, glancing over Hawaii's shoulder. _"The land, the people, the government, comes first. No one's allowed to look for him while there's a vacuum of power."_

Momilani sighed, _"Yup...that's the way it works here. He set it up that way deliberately. Look, I don't know the whole reason why but...look...we're just calling to give you a heads up that we're here and we'll notify you when we can-"_

His brothers crossed their arms-not liking the answers they were getting any more than him.

" _So I've been told to inform you and Antonio to stop calling. I'll be keeping in touch, just keep your phone turned on and-"_

"You don't know where is?!" he screeched at the phone.

" _Hey! We pulled strings to get you the cop. You think everyone gets that special treatment? Anyone else just gets a call three hours later to inform you America's "busy." Yeah, they get the song and dance about how something_ _ **really**_ _important came up and-sorry...I'm sorry. This is always really stressful."_

Arthur sucked in a breath, "...do they think I'm unsuitable now? Is that why...I've not been informed? I haven't been deemed-"

" _Huh? Unsuit-No. No, Arthur take a breath. Take a deep breath. It is NOT your fault. This happens."_

"Not on my watch," he replied stonily. "When they grow up and go off, that's one thing. I can't protect them then but this? This?! This is NOT supposed to happen."

Alaska peered back over Hawaii's shoulder and murmured, _"Vending machines._ "

" _Yes,"_ Momilani nodded _"Yes. God. Yes. That one. I remember that one. That was...look, Arthur. What we're saying is that it happens. Don't beat yourself up. It's...upsetting" she took in a hard breath "But it's not uncommon. America does what America wants. And sometimes there's consequences."_

"You...you don't even try to argue…?" His eyebrows were twitching-he could _**feel**_ it.

" _Hon, you'll have your opportunity to lecture him to your heart's content when he reanimates. In the meantime, I just need us to be a united front. Is Spain there?"_

"Si, bella dama!"

Arthur glared. The Spaniard kept lingering in rooms with him-sending him unwanted compassionate looks.

" _Good. Texas has been very bad and I want you to know that….Because Hurricane Momilani is about to rain down hard on that boy and I don't want him running to you with a sob story-"_

" _Goddammit, woman. Ya chatty Cathy,"_ a Texan drawl came over _"What have you done!? I_ _ **told**_ _you I don't wantcha talkin' to him about this stuff-"_

Spain hurried over to talk into England's phone, "Tejas, I am very disappointed in you. Not telling anyone where you are going. Not leaving a note-"

" _ **So**_ _sorry Papi, it was just a matter of national security. Next time, I'll drop all my responsibilities JUST FOR YOU!"_

" _Texas!"_

"Tejas!"

" _Look, I'm rolling with or without y'all."_

" _Arthur, we're leaving now for-Texas you give me that slip or I swear-_ " The threat succeeded and she rattled off the motel's address a beat later. " _Don't worry, we'll handle this."_

The call ended.

He stared at the screen

Handled?

Alfred didn't need to be handled. He wasn't a bloody crate.

He needed to be cared for.

He couldn't leave it to them.

Arthur cleared his throat, "I'll be in late tonight. I need to go to him. I would do this for any of you. I want you to know that. And tonight he needs me. As custom, you're allowed to open one gift tonight. I expect pictures. And we will be together in the morning. Rhys," Arthur nodded "You're-"

"Coming with you," The Welshman finished.

Arthur blinked taken aback and sighed, "Alistair-"

"Nope. I'm going."

"Alistair."

"Shut yer gob. I'm going."

Arthur grit his teeth and turned to his remaining brother.

Reilley pulled out a rosary, "Someone has to pray we make it through holiday traffic with you at the wheel."

* * *

Texas covered his ears with his hands, "La la la. No, I can't hear you. Nananana. Nope. Still nothing!"

"Urgh! You're being so childish!" Momilani growled. "Did you really just storm out of there without telling anyone!? Your father must've been worried sick."

"I thought Canada would've told him I'd gone. God, he's as useless as two buggies in a one-horse town!"

"Did you tell Canada where you were going?" Hawaii demanded.

"..."

"Texas!?"

"I'm a man! I don't have to tell folks where I'm going. I ain't five years old! I left. End of story. Stuart's gonna see to it that the car gets returned. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal. Ya know, Alfie thought that too. Look where that got him?"

"Al didn't look both friggin' ways. _**That's**_ what got him!"

Plus, it wasn't their business. If Al hadn't set things up so they received a notification that was their problem.

Momilani felt otherwise and had made her discontent well known these last few hours.

Texas pressed himself against the backseat in frustration.

Personally, he thought the Europeans had some nerve wanting everything to change on their account. Where were they the last two centuries? Exactly. That meant they didn't get to call the shots.

Hell, even Hawaii and Alaska didn't get that privilege. He and Al...they made things work long before the two of them learned to care about the teenagers strengthening the United States. And yeah, maybe it wasn't perfect, but it held up just fine.

He glared out the window and then gasped as Alaska pulled into the parking lot and began hunting for a space, "Praise the lord, we're here!"

The joy was short lived.

They were all thrown hard against their seatbelts as a car cut out in front of them and stole their parking spot-tires squealing.

When the madman leapt out of the car and limped toward them, the feeling of shock turned to dread.

Hawaii had no mercy and she automatically rolled down his window.

"Give me the key!" Arthur hissed.

Texas flung the manilla envelope-watching with wide eyes as the man tore it to shreds. It just had a little cord that you unwound. All he'd needed to do was unwind it.

"...done lost his mind…" Texas murmured-shaking his head slowly.

"Tejas! Tu me has decepcionado-"

Fuck! No! They let him bum a ride over?!

He unbuckled and slid to the other side of the car-away from the open window.

"Roll the window up!" he pleaded.

"Tejas!"

"Alaska take pity on my soul!"

The man didn't move their SUV and the corner of his lips went up in amusement.

"Texas," Hawaii turned from her spot in the front passenger seat. "I'm gonna make this easy. You have three seconds. Get yer ass out there."

"..."

"3...2…"

Click. She unlocked the doors.

"You're a cruel woman."

He glared hard at her as Spain opened the side door.

"I have waited enough, mijo," Antonio stated sternly. "No more. Answers. _**Now**_."

Crap.

Craaaaap.

That tone.

Gah!

Those eyes.

He was heading into danger.

There was only one way to play this hand.

It would be humiliating but...he had to try!

He shot forward-across the seat and wrapped his arms around the man's middle pitifully, "Papi, ella es tan mala." He pressed his face against his chest-ignoring how it made his glasses go askew.

"O Texas," Hawaii scoffed. "He's not going to fall for-"

"Everyone's like that with me, makes it hard for a guy to know who he can share his grief with."

He was probably layin' it on too thick, but it was too late to go back now.

"..."

His hair was pet very gently.

Too gently and for a moment he was a ragtag rebel again-waking up after the Alamo. The death he remembered most intimately...before he and Al learned how to write them off as inconveniences. Before he and Al took the sting out and made them funny.

He'd woken up to the smell of bonfires-his slaughtered men gathered up and burned.

Only he'd been spared-a white slip of parchment pinned to his clothes: _Idiota._

He'd waited for comfort like this and it didn't come.

"Of course you can tell me, mijo."

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDD


	52. Chapter 52

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Teensy mention of the rivalry Texas and New York seem to have. Some more family angst.

 **AN:** Woot! Woooot! Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! Wishing Happy Holidays to all! : DDD Thanks for waiting!

 **Chapter 52:** **Máthair Mhór**

* * *

Alistair hefted the heavy tote bag of supplies Arthur had packed and eyed the cigarette butts littering the cracked pavement.

He sighed at the graffiti marking some of the bricks.

Rhys's nostrils had flared in immediate distaste at their surroundings while Reilley was nodding at all the signs of-

"Cesspool," Reilley grinned ironically. "Just where I want to be on Christmas Eve. Mark me words, gents. We'll be seeing at least three drug transactions and a pimp before the night is over."

Alistair came upon Arthur who was having trouble with the door—the Briton slid the key card-No good. He slid it again and again.

"Bloody useless thing! Open, damn you!"

Alistair carefully reached over—plucked it from his brother's fingers and set the card in. He paused, waited for the light, and then turned the handle.

Arthur tried to struggle past him, but Alistair held his ground and entered first...because it was damn sketchy and the one with the gammy leg shouldn't be the first line of defense.

There should have been some kind of reaction as they opened the door.

He eyed the eerily quiet room for a guard, but the room was devoid of life. There were just a bunch of electric fans going. Various models plugged into various outlets.

Some tall. Some small. Some pivoting ones.

He blinked as one large standing one made its turn and swiveled toward him. The rush of air swept his hair back and caused one loose panel of wallpaper to unfurl in the breeze.

He moved in—eyes and ears alert.

"I got the key," Reilley announced as he removed it from the door reader.

"Alfred?" Arthur called as he rushed in.

"Arthur…" Alistair mumbled. "I...cannae...sense..." He looked at Rhys. Did _he_ sense anything?

Rhys held his gaze for a full beat, shook his head, and carefully turned on a lamp.

"Where are you, poppet?" Arthur asked the room—eyes scanning every nook and cranny.

His brother was just thinking aloud.

Alistair's fist clenched around the bag's strap.

"Where are you, love? Where are you now?"

The slightly sloped floor creaked as he hobbled about in exploration.

But Alfred wasn't resting on the dingy couch. He wasn't placed on the cheap gray linen bed.

The closet was missing a door and revealed an ironing board that was missing three of its rubber feet. The bent window blinds were closed but hints of streetlamp light filtered in the gaps. It drew the eye to dead flies dotting the window sill here and there.

Alistair nearly bumped into his youngest brother who'd halted dead in his tracks—body stiff.

Green eyes had focused on the one closed door ahead and the bizarre mound of flowers that had been heaped at the bottom of it.

Tribute…by passing faes paying their respects…

And each of the Kirklands knew... _knew_ where Alfred was.

"Arthur," Alistair began, "Maybe Reilley and I ought to-" but Arthur didn't heed him.

He shot towards the door and wrenched it open.

Alistair gripped the bag's strap over his shoulder securely as he cautiously came over.

He watched Arthur's body tense even more in the door frame.

Rhys took in a steady breath and asked what they already knew, "Arthur? Is he inside-"

"...left my baby in a bag…"

Alistair swallowed, reached over, and flipped the switch on.

The fluorescent light crackled to life—illuminating the small space.

Aye.

They did.

There was a body bag in the tub.

"Oh...god…" Reilley breathed near Alistair's ear as he stood on tiptoes to see over Alistair's shoulder. "Oooooh me, tha's...that's...oooooh..."

Alistair searched through the tote for a pair of scissors, but by the time he'd found them-Arthur had already made short work of the bag by ripping it apart.

Rhys very calmly collected the pieces and Alistair fished out a crumpled plastic bag to hang on the bathroom doorknob-so they could more easily remove the rubbish when they were done.

It was a small space. Only Arthur and Rhys could fit inside—and even then, they were bumping elbows.

Alistair stayed at the threshold—near enough to step in when he was needed and Reilley hovered behind him—waiting to be drafted or dismissed.

Texas (with Spain in tow) came in just as they were wadding up the last pieces to dispose of.

He braced himself for loud Texan heartache because Texas didn't do anything quietly.

It threw him for a spin when the lad took the situation too well.

"Look, you're all spooked over it," the young man observed. "I can tell. Here," He reached for Arthur's armful. "S'fine, I can rinse him off."

Arthur turned away-swaying from foot to foot.

"Arthur-" the lad insisted. "Give 'im here."

Arthur didn't respond.

"Art-"

"Unnecessary," Rhys announced sternly with a no nonsense look. He turned and gave Alistair a significant look.

Alistair then physically blocked the door frame, "Sorry laddie, yeh gotta leave 'em be."

Texas rolled his eyes and stalked off for the couch.

Satisfied with the outcome, Rhys took the tote from Alistair and rummaged through it-nodding when he found bubble bath and other hygiene products.

He gave Alistair a nod, a clap on the shoulder, and a dismissive handwave to Reilley-signaling they were dismissed.

It came as a surprise because Rhys as an Empath was highly sensitive to strong emotion and Arthur had to be oozing misery.

His Welsh brother wiped down the now vacant tub and once satisfied turned on the faucet.

"Rhys, I can-"

"No."

"It's no matter for m-"

Rhys cut him off with a cold 'You dishonor your older brother with your lies' in Welsh.

"…"

"Shhh. It's alright," Arthur pressed a kiss into matted hair. "Everything's alright. I'm here; Daddy's here; I've got you now."

His nephew had lost a shoe. His bloodied sock had dried to a rusty brownish.

Rhys exhaled tiredly, "Arthur and I will help him. We need someone to phone Mr. Gray at the house…Olivia too, someone to gather up a suitable meal, and someone to make this...site more hospitable for the time we're here."

"I'll find us something to eat," Alistair volunteered.

"And I'll get us something to drink" Reilley vowed as he looked over the dismal scene. "Something strong...we'll need it."

* * *

Texas frowned as Spain sat shoulder to shoulder with him. Yeah, he was grateful the man hadn't been half as furious as Hawaii had hoped he'd be, but Tex was done takin' all that 'You-Youngsters-Are-Doing-This-All-Wrong' vibe that they all kept giving off.

He'd felt the older man watching him when he'd first entered the room and turned all the fans off. Again, when he'd battled the room's crappy heating unit—giving it a sharp thwack! To motivate it into working.

And now when he just wanted to relax on the stupid couch for a few minutes, Antonio's green eyes were on him again.

Tex glared, "S'like I told you earlier. I had to go. I just did. Al and I go when we feel the other dive into a dirt nap. Gotta make sure all the bases get covered and gettin' mad at me for doin' my job is just-"

"I'm not angry," Spain replied. "I am disappointed and I am worried and upset, but I am _**not**_ angry. I respect your responsibilities. You are right. You are important, the situation was serious, and you were needed. I respect this…I respect _you_...Please respect me and my worrying. I know you are young and I am old. I will always see you young. You are competent and I am overprotective, but I appreciate knowing how and when I can help you, should you get in over your head. I realize this is not always possible and some matters are classified, but I never want you to feel you cannot ask me for my help. And I never want you to feel embarrassed for needing it. And if you do ' _keep me in the know and tell me to keep it on the downlow._ ' I will do so and-"

Tex pointed an index finger and interrupted, "Papi. Don't. Don't ever say anything like that again and no quotation fingers please."

Spain smiled, "If you talk with me then I don't to have to guess when you're in trouble and barge in...and I won't have to do quote fingers."

"S'kinda...embarrassing when you just bust in and...damn...don't _**you**_ get embarrassed doing it?"

Spain laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, "One day when you are the padre in this scenario, you will understand my laughing. Hehheh, embarrassment. You lose the ability to feel that in the early years. Hehehehe."

Tex didn't want to know what Spain was remembering and cleared his throat, "Soooo...be more open with you?"

"Si."

"Kay. Can do. You're kinda crowdin' me, Papi."

"Hmm."

"You...you see how close you're sitting? Well, it's too close."

"...mmhmm."

"You didn't move at all."

"Consider this your punishment."

"What?!"

Antonio draped an arm over his shoulders, "My affection is invading your personal space. What will my grownup teenager do?" He gave him a squeeze and then removed the arm altogether and made to get up.

"Oi, I..I didn't say you had to leave the couch, I just said you're sittin' too close. I need an inch or two...cuz I'm American...okay?"

Spain gave him an indulgent smile, sat back down, and very deliberately slid over two inches.

"Gracias."

"De nada."

But the tone. His tone!

He felt his face heat up a bit because Antonio was so obviously amused. And if that wasn't bad enough, he sensed Alaska was tickled by it too. Sensed because the man's face was a Fort Knox where expressions were involved.

He frowned at the elder man, "Did you have to stay through all that?"

Completely stoic, the man replied: "The television doesn't work."

"So you had to get your soap opera drama the ol' fashioned way, that it?"

"..."

Thank the lord almighty, that the pizza arrived then. He was gettin' _**hangry**_.

Hawaii, Scotland, and Northern Ireland came through the door arguing good naturedly with several greasy boxes and an impressive amount of beverages, "He was a pimp. No one wears fedoras who's not-"

"A druggy is not a wino, it doesn't count."

"I saw a beverage container-"

"No two-for-ones, Missy."

When Tex raised an eyebrow, Northern Ireland shrugged.

"Our seedy scavenger hunt is near done," Scotland explained as he hefted three cartons of alcohol and a pack of soda onto the small table. Reilley set down two more cartons of beer. One of the table legs was shorter than the rest, so it made the thing wobble and the glass bottles clink.

Spain frowned at the cheap piece of furniture.

"Pequeño...why here?"

"Why not?" Texas shrugged as he reached for a slice of pizza, "Cuz he probably ain't the only body stashed here, ya know? Sooo nobody's gonna be botherin' him. These aren't the sort that want the police involved. And the neighbor-folk ain't about to break in where stuff could be happenin' cuz we could be packin' some heat."

The pizza tasted like pepperoni smothered soggy cardboard—though it was hard to tell if the food just sucked or if he was all off because the rest of the U.S. had crashed over him like a house of cards. He hated feeling Virginia. It always reminded him of the War of Northern aggression. Virginia just wasn't meant to be his. And he didn't know how Al put up with New York…so whiny, but Al wouldn't appreciate him abusing his temporary powers.

"It's a habit from their West days," Hawaii grumbled as she set her coat down on the floor to sit on it.

Texas immediately stood up, "Momilani, you can have my spot-"

She put a hand up, "No, that's okay Sweeties, I cringe when I think of what might've occurred there."

Texas stared at the cushions as if really seeing them and their stains for the first time.

Ewwww.

Spain shrugged, "It's well broken in."

BLECH!

"Papi?!"

"So yeh always choose the seediest places to convalesce?" Reilley sneered unimpressed. "Oh yeah, can't see any ways how that can go wrong."

He elbowed Alistair, but the Scotsman stayed quiet.

"Wouldja have thought to come here?" Texas snapped back.

"…"

"Exactly. So damn dangerous it's safe. Al's clever like that," Texas noted with pride.

Rhys entered the conversation as he wiped his hands off on his trousers, "Considering the extraneous factors-it's worse than foolhardy."

"Save your science speak for Al when he wakes up. Besides, if you really want your undies in a twist, ask old Scotland. He knows we healed up in places like this. Maybe not with the whole death part but he's seen Al shot up. Heck, before I joined up with America-he's seen both of us laid out after a bounty hunt gone wrong. And Al says he'd always track him down in the slummy parts of London and either gave him enough dough to move into a better hotel, had him stay over, or dragged his ass over to one of y'all's castles."

"Yer fat trap!" The Scotsman went as red as his hair.

"I'm communicatin.' Papi said I should."

"You're doing very good. Much better," Antonio complimented. "You might want to hide behind me though. They'll go for him first and then you."

Reilley and Rhys turned and scowled at their Scottish brother.

"Ack, what was I s'posed to do? I couldn't leave him bartending in the bad part of London just to go back to some shitty hotel at three in the fucking morning. He'd be mugged or killed or worse!"

"You didn't tell…" Rhys frowned heavily.

"Who was there to tell?!" Alistair gestured angrily. He jerked his thumb to the bathroom, " _ **He**_ was still an evil empire," He pointed his finger at Rhys, " _ **You**_ were evilly indifferent, and-" He turned to Reilley, "You're...well, you're Irish. None o' you could be trusted then."

"Of all the ridiculous omissions-"

"And I'm trustworthy _**now**_?" Reilley quirked a brow. "I'm no less Irish."

"I've relaxed my standards these last few years."

The argument stalled as Arthur came through the room.

"There we go," Arthur smiled tiredly as he carried a pajama clad Alfred over to the bed-not following the conversation at all. He settled them both down on the mattress and carefully toweled Alfred's hair dry.

Hawaii hastily divvied up slices on paper plates and handed them out. She probably figured she could stop a word war, if everyone's mouths were full.

She offered one to Arthur who waved a dismissive hand, "Maybe later."

As the rest ate, the topic turned to safer avenues like which movie previews were the dumbest.

Tex ticked off reasons why British film previews rubbed him the wrong way, "There's always a pub scene, a cliff view, and some kinda boat if it's a UK flick. Doesn't matter what the genre is."

"Americans are always breaking through windows or tables or exploding things-"

Tex reluctantly admitted, "That's…kinda accurate. All that sorta stuff happens after you hear one of us say: _'Can you hold my beer?_ '"

During a lull in the conversation, Arthur's voice came through.

"-And I got this for you, poppet; nice and soft. Softest I could find."

Texas turned and watched Arthur carefully maneuver Alfred's arms around a plush toy of a rabbit.

"Until we get Hop back. That'll do, don't you think? I'd make something but...my hands are a bit..." Shaky.

It was…uncomfortable watching the man tuck his brother in and fluff his pillows. He'd even brought several extra blankets.

Texas looked away feeling a mixture of pity and disgust. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing Al be so…babied.

Sure, Tex tried to do nice stuff for his brother when he could cuz Al lived so damn hard sometimes…

But this…

This was just…

"I was just like that," Antonio shared candidly as he followed Tex's line of sight. Then he cocked his head in remembrance and admitted. "No...no I was worse. In my arms...you just...and I don't think you even knew I was there. It was awful, I couldn't comfort you. All I could do was make the return soft."

Texas squirmed uneasily because he didn't recall the man at all.

Antonio cracked the tab of a soda. It was the alternative drink Hawaii insisted on getting for Spain and Alaska.

"I waited for you….longest three days…worst three days…" He ruffled Tex's hair.

The teen frowned but before he could verbalize his displeasure—Antonio plonked a hat on the young man's head.

He felt the brim—would know it anywhere. Spain had brought his hat!

"I fight myself you know…" Antonio began haltingly. "Even now I'd want you to take an elevator if you had the option or just stay on the first floor. It's very silly. I can't and shouldn't make those choices for you. Not mine. And even when I say I'd want you to do things my way, I'm proud when you don't. When you show me that you have overcome the fear I'm still struggling with."

Texas chewed his bottom lip, not really sure how to respond, "I'm just…livin' my life best I can."

Spain smiled and gave the younger man's shoulder a squeeze.

Several slices were dutifully kept for Arthur and optimistically for Alfred.

"Arthur?" Rhys asked yet again. "Come eat."

"…"

Tex sighed; it was like one of those depressing funerals where the dog just won't move away from the coffin.

"Art," Tex called "Trust me, he ain't goin' anywhere for at least three to five days. Let's play cards. I've got a deck."

The Briton didn't move from his vigil.

Rhys changed gears, "Arthur, I need you to sort through Alfred's items. What you think he'll want to keep."

Tex frowned, "Now listen here, _**Al**_ will sort through it all himself later. He'll wanna keep the jeans for sure."

Tex huffed at the blank stares. Contrary to popular opinion, they weren't made of money and reused what stuff they could. Al was one of the best launderers he knew. He could get blood outta almost anything.

"I mean, yeah the rain coat's probably done for, that material's hard to repair, but he'll be sore as hell if you throw his stuff out without his blessing. Just throw it in a bag."

"I emptied the pockets," Rhys gestured to the ground where Alfred's things had been laid out.

Texas scowled, "Yeh don't have to do that. I told you, that's Al's stuff, he'll figure it out."

"The phone's cracked, the gum is contaminated, the ribbon's spoilt-"

Arthur shuffled over, his eyes on the red and white ribbon spools that were both stained.

Green eyes lingered on a heavily soiled envelope addressed in fancy loopy penmanship: _Father._

The ink had run badly on account of rain...and blood.

Arthur tentatively touched the letter and then the ribbons and slowly gathered them up muttering, "Oh...well wasn't that...thoughtful? Very thoughtful...such a sweet boy, that's what makes you my Sweet."

Tex clicked his tongue and busied himself with his cards. He shuffled the deck.

"We're playin' poker and Jokers are wild," he announced and began dealing.

Arthur didn't react at all.

He wondered if the Brit even registered anything from beyond that cloud of gloom hanging over him.

Arthur returned to the bed—setting the ribbons on the bedside table. He kept hold of the letter as he rested an ear on the child's chest—vainly waiting for a sign of life.

"…come back to me…" He murmured softly.

Hawaii set her hand of cards down and sighed, "Arthur, he takes a few days. You've done what you can for him. Now, we just have to be patient and-"

Arthur gasped, "Maybe his airway is blocked!"

He gently tipped the child's head back and opened his mouth.

"Arthur, you already checked," Rhys reminded him.

"He chews lots of gum…you saw the pack he was carrying."

"He just needs time."

Arthur shook his head, "His bones are healed…"

"Arthur…"

"It never takes me more than a few hours."

"Well, it usually takes _**him**_ a few days."

Arthur set Alfred carefully back on the pillow and tucked him in again—often pausing to brush hair away from Alfred's face.

"Please…please come back to me… _ **Please?**_ "

Texas ignored how the man's voice broke and barked out, "I repeat Jokers are wild."

* * *

 _Alfred ran through the fields—twirling when he felt like it and letting the ends of the tall grasses and the petals of the flowers brush and tickle against his palms._

 _There was cool dirt and damp grass beneath his toes, warm light on his hair and neck—he was safe!_

 _He raced around again—circling a mighty oak tree. He danced, jumped, and balanced about its great roots._

 _He'd climbed it three times already but being conquered never lessened its majesty. It was incredible—usually exploration leeched the magic out of stuff…but not here._

 _He flung himself back on a mound of tall soft grass and laughed as a long blade arched over and tickled his nose._

 _Content, he stared up as colors bled across the sky in a swirl of unnatural beauty. Like food coloring in vinegar: pink, violet, gold, gray. All the colors of a new day were up there, like a swirl of dawn._

 _It gave him such a swell of hope in his breast; all felt fresh and untarnished here._

 _He smiled and began plucking nearby flowers and weaving the stems together._

 _He was admiring the strange fluid sky and thinking he ought to grab some more poppies when a shadow loomed over him._

" _There ya are, yeh wee naughty thing. I always have a wicked time trying to find yeh," the strange woman scolded._

 _Fear shot through him because he'd never had someone intrude upon him in this sacred place. This was his plot of heaven. His Elysian field._

 _He gasped and scooted back-hands scrabbling for some makeshift weapon that could inflict more damage than a flower crown._

 _She stepped forward with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. The breeze unsettled her mop of long coarse reddish blonde hair but the material of her dress was thick and stiff enough that it remained undisturbed. A dark cloak was pinned at her shoulder._

 _Weird clothes._

 _Ones that made his outdated linen shirt and breeches seem fashionable._

 _What?!_

 _What?_

 _No one was supposed to be here! And why was she so big?_

 _She was practically looming over him._

 _He blinked and stared down at his hands on the grass. They were small._

 _No..._

 _He was small._

 _He'd always been small here, but he'd never quite realized it because...there'd been no one to be compared to._

 _All he'd known was that here he'd found that wonderful familiar feeling that lived on in his memories of his fields._

 _He thought he'd been indulging in a childhood memory, but the Underworld had known he was a little kid all along._

" _What are you doing here?" he demanded—fearful of her mystique and eager to use anger to bolster him through the encounter._

 _Was she like Osha? Slipping into his mind and gaslighting him? Was she a reaper that he'd never smacked into before?_

 _She laughed, "What am I? What am I doin' here? Oh no. Nonono. What're_ _ **you**_ _doin' here? More like."_

" _These are my fields," Alfred frowned-his hand closed around an acorn. It'd have to do._

" _Oho! Oooh me, we have a mighty_ _Rí_ _, layin' claim to Tir now are we? Well, you've a time to wait and plan 'fore you can make good on that. And I don't think Germania and the others will bow down and accept it."_

" _...there's…" He blinked "Other people here?"_

" _Bless yer heart. This is the Otherworld, indeed. Yer the one tha's not home here, a leanbh."_

 _Alfred's eyebrow twitched. He could almost hear the silent 'ya idgit.'_

" _Yeh've never run into anyone," the woman guessed. "Well, it took me a time, but I know your spot now."_

 _She smiled and stretched a pale densely freckled hand out._

 _The nails were thick and ridged and her fingers were squared, hard, and calloused._

" _Now come with me then my littlest acorn and I shall see yeh safe to the path, so you can be returned to the clan and-"_

" _No!" he threw the acorn he was holding._

 _It bounced off against her collarbone._

 _She stared at him with plain shock, "Did...you...just-"_

" _You should've blocked it with your eyebrows!"_

 _Because seriously she could use a tweeze._

 _They twitched with fury._

 _Admittedly, it was the wrong thing to do._

 _It was the worst thing to say._

 _Cuz she turned out to be pretty friggin' fast. He was able to evade her for two laps, but she caught him on the third by doubling back and her hand fell without mercy._

 _His poor butt! Gah, England never hit him like that! What was her deal?!_

 _He said as much and she laughed at him again, "Ack, yer Tad…he's so soft with yeh. No wonder at all that I seen old milk less spoilt."_

 _She carried him at her side like a sack—his arms and legs dangling._

" _Why are you so mean to me?" he cried out in frustration. "What've I ever done to you 'sides throw an acorn?"_

" _O course I'mma gonnae be cross wid yeh, yeh keep makin' me poor bairn cry." She set him down on the path. "Now go. Go on withee now."_

 _What did a barn have to do with anything?!_

 _God, he hated being told what to do. Didn't she have any clue who she was dealing with? He was America! Nobody ordered him around! Not anymore!_

 _This is 'Me Time' he thought angrily. Time he got to just chillax here and let his body heal up. If he went back too soon, he'd still be bruised or broken and definitely sore to the max. He usually stayed until the path back was unavoidable—when every step seemed to draw him toward it until he was tripping over it._

 _He glared up at her smug face._

 _There was something...familiar about her smiling green eyes…_

 _Maybe it was her almost tangible arrogance, but something about her made him feel like he knew her._

 _But he didn't._

 _And her eyes were crabapple green..._

… _Dark, seawater eyes crinkled as they looked on him. The dim lighting made them seem even darker…_

" _Had a scare, did we?" He stretched out on the bed beside him. "I know not why you persist in asking me for those books, if they give you such a fright…silly goose."_

 _He brushed hair out of Alfred's face and thumbed away tearstains, "There, there. Look at me now, come. Look."_

 _Father liked to be looked in the eye and it was easy to do—they were murky and deep._

 _Ocean eyes..._

" _It's alright. Father's here. No monster shall ever prevail whilst I am near. So sleep. I'll guard. Alright, my Sweetling?"_

 _Yup, her eyes were all minty and light…_

 _Light eyes…it made them all wrong._

 _He crossed his arms and sulked._

 _Whatever._

 _She was gonna be a pain the butt if he lingered in his fields any longer. She had that look about her._

 _He blew out a frustrated breath, "Goodbye bossy lady brows."_

" _Tha's_ _máthair mhór to you, yeh skelpie acorn."_

" _Yeah, yeah."_

" _Is tú mo ghrá."_

" _Oh yeah? Well back at cha!" He stalked down the path._

Blue eyes gradually focused on a dark ceiling. It was super late at night.

Yup. He was way sore. He squirmed and stretched—body popping.

His eyes and nose stung as he picked up the distinct smell of tobacco and alcohol.

Loud raucous laughter and coughing met his ears.

He sighed.

Great.

Just perfect.

Arthur was drunk off his ass.

How come Alfred always to be the one to deal with the old man when he was plastered?

He turned over to see a whole group of people? Family gathered around living it up while he was incapacitated.

Nice.

Real nice.

Very slowly he pulled himself up, and stared down at the stuffed animal in his arms.

Awww…Japan was gonna be jealous. It was totally cute, but wait right now…he really needed a toilet.

He zombie walked over to the bathroom.

He was a bit dismayed to realize after flushing, that he'd been cleaned up head to toe.

Heck, there was a toothpaste crunch when he ground his teeth. Yeah, it was super gross tasting blood when you were first waking up but…dude, having someone else brush your teeth while you were dead was kinda…invasive.

He sidled out the door and frowned again at the merrymakers.

They were all playing cards and smoking and drinking.

England was cussing at a laptop that had a split screen of France and Prussia.

" _I'm winning Angleterre,_ " France taunted.

"Wrong, frog!" Arthur showed his cards to the webcam "S-see? I'm-I'm the one who's winning."

"Ya think he knows that there's only 53 cards in this deck? And there's no way in hell they could be playing with us?" Texas drawled.

"Don't spoil the fun, mijo."

" _It is I, the Awesome Prussia who is winning now!_ " Gilbert insisted.

"WOT?! No bloody way! No. Bloody. Way. Tossers." Arthur tipped his beer back, overbalanced, and fell backwards.

He laughed as the bottle rolled away and leaked on the shabby carpet. His other hand was holding his cards…and a cigarette. Several of the cards had already been singed.

Alfred crossed his arms as he approached the little party—intending to be a force of disapproving doom.

Seriously, geez. They should've at least kept the fans on if they were gonna make such a stink. The room already survived having a corpse in it, now it had to deal with this?

From his spot on the floor, Arthur closed his eyes and took in a deep drag of his cigarette.

Alfred planted both feet near his father's head so he could loom over him properly…scornfully…maybe even make him choke a bit if he could startle him only…

Arthur chose to exhale then.

Alfred coughed hard as the smoke hit him full in the face.

Green eyes snapped opened and the old man practically gagged. He rolled over and hastily ground his cigarette butt against the bottom of Uncle Reilley's shoe.

"What're yeh doin' yeh loon?" Reilley hissed. "Why are yeh-Oh! H-heh, hey boyo. Fancy seein' you up-"

"Gah, Alfie Alfalfa!" Tex crowed—face red from having indulged himself in at least three more drinks than he ought to have. "You're up early, Sleepin' Beauty! Damn I lost that bet. You win Alaska."

Hawaii punched Scotland in the arm, "I tol' ya yeh shouldn't have kept goin' out for more but nooooooo, nobody lishens to me."

There were cartons and cans and bottles all over.

Alfred glared at the mess of the room and at their untidy appearances, but before he could shoot off his mouth, two hands firmly got a hold of him and pulled him near.

And with sock clad feet, he just couldn't get the traction he needed to escape.

"My baby," Arthur breathed dreamily in his ear—nuzzling his nose into Alfred's hair.

What?

His eyebrows twitched and he glared, "What did you say?"

Arthur totally used that moment to breathe in the scent of his hair and chuckled, "Baby."

"What. Did. You. Call. Me?"

Arthur got an even bigger kick out of it and squealed, "Baby!"

"I _**dare**_ you to call me that again," Alfred growled.

Arthur giggled drunkenly and then blurted out as he nuzzled their noses, "BABYBABYBABY!"

And just when Alfred thought things couldn't be worse, his face was smothered with bad-breath-kisses.

"Sorry laddie," Alistair sighed and shook his head gravely. "We really thought you'd be out a while longer. We were hopin' to transport you and him to the house once he blacked out. Unfortunately, we've only lost Rhys so far." He gestured to the Welshman who was slumped against the wall.

"You….you got him rip-roaring-drunk deliberately?!" Alfred shouted indignantly.

"We had to stop the crying," Reilley threw in unrepentantly. "It went for hours. We were gonna go mad."

"You jacka-" He was manhandled into the crook of Arthur's arm.

"Cranky baby," Arthur smiled as he reached over and pulled Reilley's coat off him.

"Oh yeah, cuz I'm not clearly using that," the redhead griped.

"Eire, yer fine," Alistair scoffed.

Once Alfred was swaddled in his Irish Uncle's jacket, Arthur held him close and crawled over to Alistair.

He curled up there with his head pillowed on the Scotsman's lap.

Alistair sighed and pet Arthur's hair.

"I'm…I'm…I'm _**so**_ happy," Arthur sniffled tearfully.

"Tha's good, bràthair," Alistair murmured encouragingly.

Alfred looked up at his uncle's strangely tender words—utterly baffled by the chaos surrounding him.

Bloodshot gray eyes locked with his, "He's almost out laddie, please...be a good bairn. Just a tick longer. We'll make it up to yeh, I swear."

That word. That woman had used it too. He squinted as he tried to remember. He'd heard it a lot when he was really little…hadn't he?

What had it meant?

"Barn?" He mumbled questioningly.

"Little one," Alistair explained tiredly.

" _O course I'mma gonnae be cross wid yeh, yeh keep makin' me poor bairn cry."_

"You're _**my**_ bairn," Arthur added possessively as he abruptly joined the conversation and pressed a fierce kiss to Alfred's forehead. He then tucked Alfred's head beneath his chin and wrapped both arms around him protectively.

Her bairn…

 _Her bairn…_

Her _**bairn**_ **…**

All those elements of her…

The hair.

The eyes.

The accent.

The attitude.

He knew them in—his eyes swept over his U.K. kin.

Holy crap!

Bossy Lady Brows was his Gram Gram!

* * *

Read and Review Please : DDD

Hope Everyone Had A Great Holiday!


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Antonio Banderas. Or Fernando Torres. Or Shakespeare's MacBeth. Or Martha Stewart.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Yet MORE family drama.

 **AN:** And let's end 2016 right! : D Happy New Year's! Helloooooo 2017! Thanks to all the readers who've been following this fic. Let's make this a year full of accomplishment! : DDD

 **Chapter 53:** **Howdy Road Waffle**

* * *

Alfred sighed; guess it was good he'd already gone to the bathroom-Arthur didn't show any signs that he intended on releasing him soon.

He rested his head against Arthur's sweater vest. Somehow the old man had lost his button up shirt somewhere in the room, but managed to keep the vest on.

The smell of alcohol was seeping out of the old man's pores, tobacco smoke clung to his clothes, and his breath was awful. Yup, cuddling with him right now was a definite pain in the butt.

"I luv you soooo much," Arthur slurred sleepily. "I-I need you to know that. Do you know that, poppet?"

And there was that.

He should probably be grateful Arthur hadn't gone into his own British version of the Revolutionary Rant which usually ticked Alfred off and left him feeling low for days.

Except it would've been familiar.

Arthur would spout off about what a horrible, disloyal, treacherous brat he was and various things he done through the years that he ought to be ashamed over.

Alfred would be unrepentantly snarky. Arthur might burst into angry tears and then when he was too plastered to stand up or fight anymore, he'd carry the older nation back to his flat or hotel.

And yet that wouldn't have been half as depressing as what he was dealing with now.

"Do you know that?" Arthur insisted.

"Yeah...yeah, I know, Dad."

"Good...my poor sweet lamb," Arthur crooned as he clumsily pet his hair. "S'alright my lil' darling. I'm here."

And it wouldn't be sporting to fight him off.

He'd been shocked and appalled to learn that his father was badly injured-he was in a cast!

" _He's on medication and you let him drink?!" he screeched. Which unfortunately prompted an immediate episode of coddling from Arthur. Old man thought he was suffering a nightmare or a panic attack._

" _You're safe," he kept repeating to him desperately. "You're safe. I'll keep you safe. Don't you fret, I keep all my pretty chickens safe."_

He watched Alaska, Spain, and Scotland tidy up the room as Arthur's nonsensical ramblings dwindled.

A light snore by his ear finally signalled that Arthur was down for the count and he carefully unwound himself from his father's embrace.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been prepared for how weak his body still was and he almost immediately sunk to his knees. He'd used up all his energy earlier when he'd been ticked off with his family and had stormed over to them.

Stupid Gram Gram, this was why he usually waited to return. When he vacationed for five days or so, he'd come back to a well-recovered, full strength (if terribly stiff) body.

He definitely hadn't been out for several days. He was way too tired and sore. He'd need to see the date to figure out just how long he'd been out.

Alaska noticed him on the ground and set him on a chair before returning to his task of collecting litter in a garbage can.

When Scotland and Spain remarked that they wouldn't be able to fit the fans and they didn't get why there was a jungle of them in the room in the first place, Alfred assured that he'd text his government later to round them up. They also seemed kinda creeped out when he tried to explain that he did it as a courtesy. So he wouldn't stink up the place too bad. That's also why he opted to be deposited in a bathroom-bathrooms were easier to clean if he was mushy and leaked.

The hardest task was getting everyone into a car; dealing with semi-alert drunks was like corralling cats or defiant toddlers.

They were loud, spitty, and hissed when they didn't get their way.

Spain volunteered to drive the "Fiesta" car which would transport the somewhat lucid, incredibly vocal members of their group.

Antonio remained impressively cheerful as he helped buckle his passengers in, not an easy task when Hawaii was even more flirty (and handsy) than usual and Reilley was convinced he ought to be the one driving.

"Oi, how come I don't get to ride shotgun, huh?" Tex pouted.

"Because we are playing limo, mijo. Only Papi gets to ride in the front. The rest of you are celebrities like Fernando Torres!" Tex stared at him blankly. Antonio tried again. "Like movie stars...like Antonio Banderas."

"Ohhhh! Bueno."

They started chatting easily in Spanish.

Spain commented to them wryly as he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, "Funny how he remembers Spanish so well _now_."

"Yeah, it sucks for me though," Alfred complained. "Sometimes he'll feel ornery and wanna argue and I don't even know what the heck he's grousing about."

Alaska opted to drive the quiet car: Alaska was semi-silent by nature, Arthur and Rhys were unconscious, and Alfred and Alistair were tired.

Alistair pursed his lips a moment and then asked quietly, "Can yeh please ride in the car seat without a fuss?"

"You said you'd make it up to me," Alfred frowned-snuggle time with smelly drunk Arthur was still vivid in his mind.

Alistair chewed his bottom lip, "Laddie...I'm going to be forthright with you. If one more bad thing happens to you and Arthur learnt it was from my negligence...he'd disembowel me and decorate a garland with me innards. Yeh gotta ride in it. For my sake."

Alfred crossed his arms, "You big fat liar. You said you were gonna make it up to-"

"I'll make it up some other way."

"No you won't. All of you are on _his_ side! It's just like before!"

A flash of memory lit up his mind, of Canada and his three uncles grimly staring him down on the battlefield. They couldn't understand...refused to…

Alfred knew then that Osha was right...he was being rejected...by everyone...

"Whaddya mean? I'm a man of my word, and we're kin, we're on the same side!"

Right.

Right...they were kin…

"I...I dunno. It just...doesn't feel like it."

"...Well...I'm sorry yeh feel that way right now...but...I cannae let anythin' happen to you. Now, am I gonna have to wrestle yeh in there? And if I am, we got to have rules" Alistair pointed a strict wagging finger. "No biting."

* * *

Alfred awoke to someone unclicking his safety belt and lifting him out.

"Just me, laddie."

He leaned against his uncle's strong shoulder and his eyes shuttered close and he drifted back into a comforting darkness. He was just sooo tired.

Vague shapeless dreams cycled until-

"Where IS he?!"

Alfred squinted in the direction of the shriek.

Father?

He made out the blurry shape of his uncle at the foot of the couch.

"He needs to be in bed," Father insisted. "Give him mine."

"He's fine. Get yerself showered, yeh reek. Ugh, you spewed, didn't you?"

"He needs-"

"I'll move him where you say-just leave him be and get yourself-"

"I need to see him."

"There he is...resting. Now don't bother him, go get cleaned up. Yer a fright. I mean it. Yeh'll scare him lookin' like such a mess."

"...I'll be back in a wink, Sweet."

Alfred grunted something noncommittal and then his eyelids drooped close again.

A while later the same voices resounded-hushed this time but Father was no less indignant.

"No one fed him?"

"Arthur. He's been sleeping."

"Of course he's sleeping, he's starving. Go tell the cook..."

He sunk back into slumber until the world pressed itself in and he couldn't ignore it anymore.

He'd been moved. He was somewhere even softer now.

He stretched his hands experimentally. From the feel of it, he was in a bed with an electric blanket on top and someone was petting his hair and humming.

It felt...really nice.

Light, graceful fingers smoothed his eyebrows and traced the edges of his face. They moved into his hair and scratched gently along his scalp.

He sighed and relaxed into the touch.

He blinked lethargically.

From his half-lidded gaze he spied a freshly shaved Arthur. And he definitely smelled him. He was wearing twice as much cologne as he usual.

"...Sweet? Sweetling? Dearheart? Are you awake?"

"Mornin'," he croaked.

"Ah, yes. Good morning to you, pet. Think you can manage a bite?"

"Maybe."

Usually, he wasn't too hungry after a death. He'd get all his stuff in order, make the necessary phone calls, and chew down a poptart.

"Let's try."

From a fancy silver tray on the side table, Arthur unscrewed a small thermos and poured an amount into the cup.

Wait, wasn't he supposed to be angry with the ol' man?

The aroma of soup made his mouth water.

Whatever. Eat now, remember later.

He immediately grabbed for it.

"Now, now, sit up first. Good. Thank you. And-wait," Arthur carefully took a test sip. "Yes, perfect. Not too hot."

He set the cup in Alfred's hands and Alfred took greedy gulps.

Bone Broth.

From the flavor, it must've been from the leftovers of Yule feast. Just like they promised. That touched him. Something about promises being fulfilled made the taste even better.

His second cupful came with the condition that he take some pain medication.

The third was just delicious and filling.

He licked his lips and then yawned.

Okay. Plan revision. He'd thought Pop Tarts were a major improvement to munching rations, and rations were a step up from dry oats after a death, but broth! Broth was waaay better. He'd make a note about that. Would have to make sure the hotel room...had a microwave...in it...

He yawned again.

Arthur dabbed Alfred's mouth with a napkin and Alfred didn't even care-he was too warm and content and sleepy.

"Very good," Arthur guided him down onto the pillows. "Now, why don't you rest a bit more?" He affectionately ruffled his hair.

It should've been patronizing, but last night...memories started to surface of the dim cheapy hotel room.

Honestly, last night had been kinda scary. Whenever Arthur got drunk he was so unpredictable. He depended on Arthur being straightlaced and by the book. He was always the man with a plan. And last night he was far worse than usual…

Seeing him unravel…

"We'll try you with some solids a bit later, what say you?"

But he was back to his in-control-bossy-normal-self now.

Alfred nodded and tried to turn onto his side. He winced as pain lanced up his back.

"Are you hurting? Tell me where."

He rubbed an eye, "S'okay...m'back's just sore."

"Can you lie on your front or does that worsen the hurting?"

He blushed a bit at Arthur's choice of phrase. 'The Hurting'...that was what he'd called illness and injury as a little kid whenever something caused him unbearable pain.

And this wasn't even the excruciating grit-your-teeth-and-close-your-eyes kind let alone the howling kind.

This was just the mildly irritating you-did-something-stupid-and-now-you're-paying-for-it kind.

Sheesh, Arthur sounded so serious too.

The back of his pajama shirt was carefully rolled up, "You're healing up quite nicely, but there's still some bruising. Would you like ice?"

He scrunched his nose up at the thought of cold ice, "No, I'm nice and warm."

After being dead and cold and stiff, it wasn't a sensation he wanted to surrender so soon.

"I see; we'll ice it later then."

Fingers gently prodded the area, "Does that hurt?"

"Not too bad."

"I'd like to massage around the contusions a bit to encourage blood flow and prevent calcium deposits from forming. But if at any time it causes you more pain, alert me at once."

He refused to begin until Alfred promised he would.

"Now, as you probably know, Hong Kong is quite the martial artist. But when he was younger, after a tournament, I'd do this for him. I remember this one time when he been struck with a particularly brutal roundhouse kick..."

Alfred let his mind wander as the old man reminisced. He'd never begrudge Arthur for having a life away from him, but sometimes it hurt to hear about all the memories he wasn't a part of.

He was just starting to really relax when he abruptly realized Arthur wasn't in a chair beside his bed but a wheelchair!

That's right! He was injured! How could he forget?!

"Nono," Arthur scolded. "Lie down."

"How'd you hurt your foot?" he demanded.

"My ankle," Arthur corrected and placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders to try and and slide him back toward the center of the bed.

Alfred wriggled and reached down to brush his fingers against his father's cast.

"Alfred, I don't want you to fall," Arthur's voice took a stern edge. "Those footrests won't make for a soft landing, you understand?"

Alfred sighed and patted the cast sadly. Poor ankle.

Arthur took the reaching hand and kissed the back of it.

Stunned by the oozingly affectionate gesture, Alfred was easily maneuvered back on the bed.

The massage continued.

"Does it hurt?" Alfred asked tracing designs into the white coverlet.

"A twinge now and then."

"Is it twinging now?"

"No. Now please lay back down."

Alfred tried to catch Arthur's hand,"You feel all sad and mopey. Is it cuz your ankle hurts? I hate it when my feet aren't right."

Arthur gave Alfred's fingers a light squeeze before releasing them, "Firstly, no; I'm very happy. Secondly, I'm quite alright-I've already taken my medication. Thirdly, of course you do. Your feet are connected to your magic. Hence, why I'll expect you to treat them kindly or I shall be very upset with you."

"...are you upset with me now?"

"No...I...I...told you...I'm very happy."

"Then why do you feel so-"

Arthur lurched forward to wrap his arms around him.

He pressed his face against Alfred's shoulder.

"I just missed you terribly," his father replied thickly.

"Oh..." It took him a minute but Alfred slowly wriggled himself around and tentatively wrapped his arms around Arthur in turn. Alfred was kinda proud of himself for how fast he recovered from the abrupt action and pleased that he was able to give some comfort.

Arthur let out that breath. The one that he remembered from long ago bedtimes when he'd make demands for one more hug.

Rather than making him irritated, he'd feel Arthur's cheek move against his-signalling a smile and then he'd exhale. Like he was finally able to cast off the troubles of the day and it pleased a young Alfred that he could wield such a power.

He'd wrap his arms around the broad back and squeeze tightly until Arthur gave him a return squeeze.

Timidly, he began to tighten his hold.

"I wish you'd have told me you were going out," Arthur murmured. "I could've gone, I could've done something."

He froze, "I was just...trying to give you a surprise. A good one...but…"

"I know," Arthur replied forcefully even as he sniffled, "I know I...read your letter."

America perked up, so it wasn't lost in the aftermath. He tightened his hold again.

Arthur embraced him tightly, "You don't ever have to thank me for that."

Alfred faltered "...oh…I just thought..." he'd appreciate it. Dang, even when he tried to do right by him, he messed things up.

Arthur was breathing pretty hard as he murmured, "Never. I love you. It's as simple as breathing. Simpler."

He wasn't...really sure how to answer that. Everything he'd experienced made him assume otherwise.

But it was an awfully nice thing to hear.

Arthur drew back to study him-Green eyes fever-bright.

"..."

He felt his whole body heat up.

Arthur kissed him on the cheek and then held him close-letting Alfred hear his heartbeat.

They stayed that way for a while before Arthur continued, "I feel awful that this happened. You should've been safe here. God, it was so sudden you must've been frightened."

"Um...actually…" Alfred fidgeted "It was...kinda my fault," he admitted. "I feel so dumb."

Really, he felt like an absolute idiot.

"No, love. Don't assign guilt to yourself. It was an accident. That's all it was. And now you know how important it is to be vigilant. It'll be alright." Arthur swallowed nervously "...was it horrible? What am I even asking that for? Of course it was. And then...when I think of you being _**abandoned**_ in that room. God, what were they thinking?! They just left you in that-that-that bag!" Green eyes slitted "And they didn't even-"

Alfred plucked at the bedcovers as he thought over the indignity of his last few Gasping Minutes, "You've all warned me over and over and I didn't-I mean I should've just called and asked you how to handle-"

There was a knock on the door.

Sealand and Wy tentatively looked in.

Alfred gave a half-hearted wave which they returned nervously.

Arthur wiped his eyes and nose with his handkerchief, "H-hello. Good morning."

Sealand glanced at Wy and nudged her with his elbow.

She glared at him.

He shrugged, "You lost three out of five. You gotta do it."

Wy cleared her throat, "H-hey, um I asked...Reilley and...he said...uh...Alfred's okay now….and since Alfred's up and everything...uh...can...can we open presents now?"

Arthur's mouth slackened. He checked his watch, stared back at them and then spluttered, "Of course! Of course. Happy Christmas Wy! Peter!" He glanced down at Alfred "Alfie."

Christmas. It was Christmas…

It was Christmas?!

He came back right on Christmas?

Well crap.

Alfred's stomach flopped and he felt numb as Arthur bundled him up and set him on his lap.

He didn't have a single thing ready.

Did his packages even arrive?

Where did this place keep wrapping paper?

Dammit, he didn't have his phone so he couldn't check his email for package-tracking!

The man wheeled them out.

Thankfully, he spotted a cowboy hat in the hallway.

"TEXAS!" He screeched.

Arthur jolted behind him on account of the loud shout, but Alfred didn't have time to worry about that.

One of Tex's brown eyes shut as he winced-and his nose and eyes were kinda red...signaling he was fighting a hangover. No doubt that wasn't mere orange juice in his hand but a mimosa.

But that was his problem.

Tex tipped his hat, "Howdy Road Waffle."

"Texas it's an emergency! Did my packages come?"

"How the hell would I know? I haven't been here-"

Alfred's eyes narrowed, "I make sure the government has the post-office notify you when stuff like this happens and I'm expecting stuff. Talk about dropping the ball. When I nosedive, you're s'posed to handle stuff. I handle stuff for you!"

Tex shrugged a shoulder, "Wellp, you're crazy efficient and you can do all that. My brain functions at a normal boring capacity. Sorry partner, I did not get to it."

Alfred felt his face contort into a very sour expression, "You haven't done anything have you? Did you even call the state capitols to inform them to forward high priority-"

"I delegate that stuff-"

"You don't know? You don't know. You-"

"Sh, it's alright" Arthur murmured soothingly. "This is a simple matter, we can resolve it easily-"

"Young Master," Mr. Gray piped in. "We _did_ receive several packages addressed to y-"

Good! The first thing to go right! Maybe he could get this train back onto the track?

He ticked off on his fingers, "I need wrapping paper! And ribbons! And stick'em bows! And tinsel! And shiny foil paper! And plastic baubles for outer decoration! And that one ribbon you use for balloons that you can curl with scissors! And scissors! And tape! And-"

"Oh no ya don'! Disregard all o' that," Texas growled. "Alfred, you are my brother and I love you. But you're being ridiculous and unreasonable. You are not sending these poor folks on such a goosechase. The family is opening presents _**now**_. You gotta deal. No one's putting up with your Martha Stewart panic attack."

"They can start without me-"

"No sir," Texas shook his head. "I'll grab some newspaper and you'll make do."

"NO! I hate newspaper wrapping! That's cheap and lazy."

Tex raised an eyebrow, "I do it all the time."

"And I _**hate**_ it."

"God, you're so prissy."

"Baby, he's right. It's happening," Momilani agreed as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Great, she was hung over too.

"Honey...we can't ask everyone to wait for you while you wrap things."

Alfred crossed his arms, "It's fine! I'll be late."

"I'm telling you bro, the wrapping doesn't matter-"

"It matters to me!"

"You will miss out on the whole thing if you-"

"You're not listening to me-"

Alfred felt his chest constrict at the feeling of helplessness that swept over him. He knew he was overreacting but...it felt like he had no power over anything. Anything at all.

"You're not-"

"I propose a compromise," Arthur announced over everyone. "I use a large velvet bag to hand out presents. Since everyone's gotten older and technology seems to be everyone's cup of tea, there's plenty of room in it. Why don't you add your gifts in with mine?"

Alfred frowned, "You don't...wrap those ones?"

"I don't. I hand them out to whom I think would appreciate them and should bartering occur, it's better not to have name tags or pink or blue wrapping."

Alfred stared at him,"Okay….okay yeah...that could work..you...you don't mind?"

"I think it's rather depressing to have a flat bag at Christmas," Arthur replied. "Don't you agree, Mr. Gray?"

"Absolutely. Randolph? Can you add Young Master Alfred's packages to Admiral Kirkland's Christmas bag?"

* * *

Rhys groaned pitifully as he came to.

"Oi," Alistair gave him another rough shake. "Housekeeping. Early morning wake up. And you're welcome...fer dragging yeh to bed after you got rat-arsed. Look, you joining us downstairs or not?"

"Ugh."

"Don't expect my pity. _**You**_ ," he tapped Rhys on the forehead "Did this all on your own."

Rhys sighed.

There was some truth to that.

He was a glutton for punishment.

The contents of Alfred's letter had pushed Arthur over the edge and concern prompted him to rescue it from where his brother had dropped it like a cursed thing onto the floor.

It seemed ordinary at first.

A few misspellings here and there, though the penmanship was far superior to what they usually received from the child.

Rhys had been boggled by Arthur's reaction; it seemed like a tastefully written thank you note; it graciously thanked Arthur for inviting him, for making Yule a wonderful celebration, for taking such an interest in his recovery.

The sense of uneasiness grew...because…

Of course Arthur was sincerely invested in his son's recovery…

For Alfred to only be realizing that now...

And then he saw it, the passage that had likely sent Arthur into bloody hysterics.

 _I suppose what I'm trying to say is: even when we clash, I truly appreciate your efforts even when I don't always agree with your methods. Thank you Father, for caring about me through it all. I know I'm difficult to love._

The letter had gone on with his wishes for a New Year that featured them spending more time together and whatnot but…

 _...I know I'm difficult to love..._

Rhys indulged in a few drinks himself to try and wash out the bitter taste that line left him with. And a few more to steel himself against Arthur's distress.

Alistair had watched his youngest brother suffer with a morbid fascination until Rhys reached over and flicked his ear.

Grey eyes glanced over at him unsurely, "Yeh think Mum was _**that**_...upset?"

Rhys nearly choked on his lukewarm pizza slice, "What?"

"Was Mum upset like that when I...I mean, Arthur feels pretty...responsible...did Mum…?"

"Of course Mum felt responsible," he glared. "It was her fault."

Alistair blinked at his Rhys's undoubtedly harsh tone, but alcohol had lowered his inhibitions and loosened his lips.

It was too late to pull himself back. Every year. Every year his brother tortured himself over it. Over his fate that year and her decision regarding it. And usually every year, he fought off any attempts to discuss it.

Rhys grit his teeth, "She had no right sending you off like that. None. She should've assigned someone to go with you or she should've called me back."

Alistair fiddled with his bottle, "They...weren't really listening to her by then...and...we were running out of food. For a while after...I wondered...if that was just how she made her choice."

Rhys stared-shocked by that admission. No wonder Alba was so...

Rhys set down his plate and turned to give him his full attention, "Alba...no...she lost her magic to sense and she was irresponsible not to tell us...but she never...Alba...she didn't _choose_ Albion over you."

"..."

No wonder the relationship between the two was so damned strained.

"She was...as you said," Rhys murmured "An idiot sometimes...but she never made such a cruel choice."

"She...was upset then...after...I imagined she was but you know she could make her mind up sometimes and...I thought...she felt so guilty afterwards so that was why she…"

"Of course she felt terrible, she sent you to your death! And I never let her forget it."

Alistair looked at him with wide-eyed surprise.

"I still haven't fully forgiven her for it," Rhys confessed-tone darkening as he dwelt on it. It wasn't a topic they'd really ever gotten to discuss. His younger brothers were so very young when she passed that a halo had seemed to descend on her in their memories.

Rhys never had the opportunity to vent on her shortcomings and the hardships they endured on account of them. It was akin to sacrilege...and so the feelings stewed...

"Rhys?"

Rhys was breathing heavily-chest heaving. He hadn't. Forgiven her. He loved her. He hated her. He respected her and wanted to uphold his vow to her but...but...

Alba had trusted her.

Forced himself to try and step up into Rhys's role as hunter and went off to bag a deer.

Because Mother told him to.

Yes, he knew she'd been desperate and her health and magic was failing and Eire had gone off on his own and what a blow it must have been to have one child at war and another missing...

But Alba had trusted her!

She told him the weather would hold!

Alba froze to death in a snowstorm.

Rhys was serving as an archer for Caradoc when he felt his heart seize.

Maybe it was because Alba and Eire had come so close together…

Alba was still an infant himself when Eire had first appeared and the latter had been so fussy.

Colic he knew now but…then…

Rhys had felt resentment brew on Alba's account. Eire needed mother so much, Alba was left out-Cymru had to step up and care for him.

Originally, he'd done so out of fraternal responsibility-it was women's work, he hadn't expected to enjoy it. But Alba had been such a good baby. Sturdy and calm. In the early morning, he bundled him up, set him in a sling against his chest and took him out as he herded sheep. He'd organized it so village women would visit periodically to feed his his little brother. Later in the afternoon, following various naps, Alistair thought it great fun crawling through the grasses and playing peek-a-boo with his elder brother.

The older shepherds had been very kind to them-first, in allowing Rhys a means of income despite his own tender age while Mother was too busy to sell potions. Second, in permitting his even younger brother to accompany him.

Mother had been skeptical of his plans at first, but she couldn't deny the results. Soon he was better able to settle Alba than she was.

He'd felt a good deal of smug satisfaction at that too. Exhausted as she was, since Eire never seemed to sleep-she let them be for the time.

Maybe it was because of all that he'd never developed a real rivalry with Alba.

When Eire finally grew strong enough and calm enough for Mother to regain her strength, she confronted him on the hillside.

 _Britannia sat down beside him. One sling occupied with the small Eire and another empty and waiting for…_

 _Rhys hissed through the gap in his teeth, he'd lost both front teeth that month, a fact which had fascinated Alisdair and inspired him to try and poke a finger through it whenever Rhys wasn't paying full attention._

" _Rhys…"_

 _He frowned and set his crook between them._

" _Rhyssss," she scolded lightly and moved the crook to her other side. "Yeh've been such a great help, but you're my baban too," she pet his head "My three wee bairns."_

 _Baban...he liked to think he was a very mature son of six summers old or so._

 _She opened her arms._

 _With great reluctance, he stared down at his brother who was cooing at him and handed him over to Mother._

 _She snuggled and tickled him and set him into her sling._

 _Rhys turned away and stared down at the flock-intending to spend the rest of shift brooding._

 _A playful tap on the head made him look up, "Oi," She held her hand out to him. "I willn't repeat myself again; I told yeh, I won't be leaving any of my babes out here."_

 _She kept a tight hold on his hand and swung their arms as they made their way home. She didn't even reprimand him for tapping his crook playfully against the trees._

"Oi, you with me or no?" Alistair demanded-arms crossed and foot tapping. "I'm heading down. Hopefully, a crisis doesn't unfold in the two minutes I need to use the loo."

Dependable Alistair…

...who tried his best to raise Arthur despite being a child himself and apparently thinking himself the ultimate unfavorite…

Hazel eyes studied him sadly.

Alistair...who'd been too stubborn to seek shelter...

Too weighed down with responsibility to abandon the stag he'd managed to fell…

And who even now...

"Well? Nothin' to say? Not a thing? Ack, I ain't got the time for charades and I can't mind-read what yeh want me to do...I know you're...that all of this has been...on you...but...dammit," Alistair briskly crossed the room to the door. "Look...It's Christmas. Pull yerself together. I mean it, if you ain't up in ten minutes, I'm-I'm-dammit-I'm dragging you down the stairs."

Rhys chewed at his bottom lip as he contemplated the melancholy morning awaiting the lot of them.

"Alistair..."

"Alfred's back," he replied shortly

Wales choked, "What?!"

Alistair walked out the room.

"And you didn't start with that!?"

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Or Universal Studios Harry Potter Park. Or Harry Potter and its characters, plot, merchandise etc. Or Legos. Or K'nex. Or Starbucks. Or Costa.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Family fluff and drama. Arthur-centric chap.

 **AN: *** Personal Rant* Ugh; when you've got that _one_ ancient Professor who grades hella shady cuz they don't dig your writing style. Feel free to vent your own tales of woe in the reviews. There's strength in numbers. With torches and pitchforks, we'll chase 'em all into mini-golf windmills. And if we repeal tenure, they'll probably jump. *Rant Over* Oh Rage-writing, you inspire me to finish chaps more quickly. Glad to see everyone's made it past New Year's! Thank you so much for your reviews! Fingers crossed. Hoping 2017 is gonna be the year, I start publishing some of my original work. It was one of my resolutions. : D

 **Chapter 54: Like A Rabid Dolphin**

* * *

Arthur shook his head as he rolled them fully into the Drawing Room.

Alfred was still fussing over the presents.

"I just...will it still be special? You're sure it'll still be special being lumped all together?"

After everything that had occurred, _**this**_ was what Alfred deemed a crisis.

"I assure you."

It seemed like quite an overreaction.

And yet…

It made an awful sort of sense.

Special.

It made one of their earlier discussions about magic more painful as Arthur realized he'd misunderstood. Alfred hadn't been intending to lord it over the others as he'd feared…

No...

 _Alfred glanced at him excitedly, "Does that make us special?"_

 _"No more or less. Simply different."_

 _Alfred's face soured a bit. Clearly, he'd wanted to be told in no uncertain means that he was unique._

Because he didn't feel special.

That gave Arthur pause...why even the joy of their Yule soured a bit in light of that.

 _"I haven't even done anything...gonna spoil me...treating me all nice and special when I haven't even done anything...Getting the MVP treatment when I'm not even...I mean, I just showed up. All I'm doing is just sitting here-Not making me work...just giving...better-better watch out I'm gonna have a precedent and expect this each-it'll be your own fault-spoiling-"_

When America was working he had value.

He had knowledge and expertise, impressive skill and steadfast dependability, he was easy to use and adaptable.

A loyal tool.

No wonder that "intervention" in June had been a load of bollocks. Mainly the boy's government was reconciling itself to the fact that their nation was a person.

HR issue indeed! As if anyone could put in so many hours for so little gratitude over so many years and NOT suffer a breakdown.

And when he wasn't working…

"Dad? Are you...okay?" Alfred poked Arthur's cheek.

When he was having troubles...

Emotionally...physically…

"Your face looks kinda...eeep."

And god forbid when he wasn't breathing...

When he wasn't working…

By all means...

Leave him in a bag like rubbish.

That's a jolly idea.

He wasn't working after all! And if he wasn't working what value could he have?

It made him burn like an estate under siege.

When the Angles, and the Saxons, and the Jutes came over to build their kingdoms on his lands-they often had to clear it of former ruling families; a messy necessity.

Sometimes, Arthur fought-enticed them to intermarry and limit the bloodshed. And sometimes...he simply stepped aside.

Corruption never endeared anyone to him.

And the child's government and Arthur's own had a lot to answer for.

Abandoning him in that hotel…

Ignoring England's inquiries…

And for all but admitting that they'd purposely sabotaged their relationship for years. In the void of Alfred's death, he emailed his government with demands to investigate the previous handling of personal mail between the two nations. He was met with resistance. They could neither confirm or deny the tampering of post at such short notice.

He just might have to hire an American detective. If he could confirm it on that side of the pond, there was no way they'd go down quietly.

Alfred slid himself sideways-letting his legs dangle over the arm of the wheelchair.

He made himself comfortable-letting one arm curl between them while the other reached up towards Arthur's collar. It tapped Arthur's enamel Christmas pin of a green wreath.

He then reached up and rather rudely pulled at Arthur's face.

"There we go a smiiile," Alfred grinned back. "Cuz it's Christmas."

Funny, how all the child's antics gave him such a sense of relief.

Last night...he'd been so terribly still. Body limp, head lolling, unresponsive…

Alfred relaxed his hand and rather sweetly rested them to frame his father's face.

"It's gonna be a good day, right?" Alfred began like a pep talk, "We're both here now."

Arthur nodded and his face was released.

Alfred sucked in a breath, counted with his fingers to ten, and then let it go with a whoosh.

"Christmas morning...gonna be a good time...gonna be…"

More anxiety struck as he looked around.

"They're all dressed. Am I s'posed to be dressed? You're dressed. Should I be dressed? My teeth aren't brushed; my breath is kinda-"

"You look fine. Smell fine. Sealand and Wy are in their jim jams. Why...even your brother Tex is in his...with the hat."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Look, I know I'm not on par with Mattie in the Manner-Etiquette Department, but I like to think I'm a _**bit**_ more sophisticated than Tex. Not by a lot. Like you know in cooking? A pinch? It's a pinch. Don't shatter the illusion. It's fragile."

"It's just us, Sweet."

Alfred fidgeted, "Yeah...I know but…" _I wanna do this right._..lingered in the air unspoken.

Alfred sighed and snuggled into him.

Arthur parked them beside the couch and wrapped Alfred back up in the blanket he'd taken from their room.

He stared down at the bundle.

The boy's golden hair was extra messy; Arthur hummed lightly as he combed his fingers through it-taking comfort in the minute fidgets, the puffs of breath, the brush of lashes.

Big blue eyes watched him curiously as though they really just couldn't comprehend the despair that had settled on his father during his absence.

He'd spent the past few days utterly tormented.

Would the child lose more memories as a result of his injuries?

Would all the progress they'd made be lost?

Would Alfred lose his faith in his father to keep him safe?

Would the boy's government deem Arthur unfit and intervene-trying to tear the child away from him?

He couldn't endure another estrangement! Wouldn't if the child didn't want it either. He pitied any person or organization that tried to come between them in that scenario.

He could be very... _uncivilized_...when he needed to be.

The child rested his cheek against Arthur's vest and Arthur was glad he'd chosen a soft wool one.

Alfred's hand took to examining the enamel pin once more.

There was something blissfully childish in that and it comforted him immensely.

"I missed you so much," Arthur breathed.

The child pinked and then smiled a bit bashfully.

Arthur swept the boy's fringe out of his eyes and the little one sighed contentedly until he gradually realized they were the focus of the room.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement of his other wards and guests and raised his voice, "Good morning, I'm so glad we can all spend this day together." He glanced down, "Everyone was very worried about you, Sweet."

There was a murmuring of agreement.

Alfred chewed on his lip and avoided their eyes, "Oh…well, I...I'm all better now."

Oh yes, that was convincing.

He leaned closer to the boy and said softly, "We're all so relieved you're here with us-we're your family."

Alfred's belated nod revealed a lot: "Family" didn't have the connotation it should have.

And why would it when…

' _I know I'm difficult to love.'_

Just carve his heart out. Grab a dirty beer bottle shard and be done with it.

Because he'd failed his boy spectacularly and he had to regroup somehow and fix it. He stared around the room-seeing an array of concerned expressions.

Good.

He couldn't do it alone. No matter how much he wished himself capable.

It was the entire concept of family that was at stake! The family itself would have to rise up and defend it.

Jett perched on the arm of the couch and chatted easily about having a game of rugby later.

Alfred surprised them by admitting that he didn't think he was up for a round.

"That's alright mate, actually...that works out."

Arthur immediately frowned as Alfred slumped a bit.

"No, hear me out," he lowered his voice. "Al...Behold...far corner...but don't make direct eye contact or it might charge...the GrumbleButt."

Both blonds casually looked to the far left and noticed Romano sulking in an oversized chair with his arms crossed, "Stupid Tomato Bastard, we weren't supposed to be here on the 25th."

Alfred snorted.

Jett nodded solemnly, "It has a natural proclivity to cheat. We could really use someone brave" and _argumentative_ England inferred "that could keep that referee honest as he scores the game."

"I'll consider your job proposal."

They shook on it before Jet left to talk with Jake.

Meanwhile, Sealand and Wy squabbled over who'd get to hand out the presents nestled under the tree until Olivia mediated that the two could take turns.

Randolph and Andrew hefted in the velvet bag and set it beside Arthur.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Arthur acknowledged-because judging by the strain they'd conveyed while moving, it was rather heavy now that Alfred's gifts had joined his.

"Y-yes, t-thanks," Alfred tacked on a bit embarrassedly.

"You're very welcome sirs," was Andrew's answer though the young man left with enough haste to suggest fear of being assigned another strenuous task.

Mr. Gray rolled the tea cart in and began pouring beverages..

"And can the young master handle some hot cocoa?"

"The answer is always YES," Alfred nodded emphatically as he climbed down.

"Alfred?" Arthur murmured.

"I don't wanna spill anything on you."

He was a little wobbly on his legs though but to Arthur's relief, Mr. Gray immediately sent Randolph (who'd lingered in the room) in search of another comfortable chair.

"It's...it's okay, I can...sit on the floor...I'm not wearing anything fancy I-"

"Certainly not," the elderly man frowned as he realized there were no unoccupied chairs or sofas.

"I need to redesign the room for more seating," Arthur admitted candidly.

A leather tub chair was brought in along with a faux fur pillow.

"Oh geez...I-I really don't need all-I mean I'm grateful but-"

Arthur handed the blanket Alfred had left in his lap over to Mr. Gray.

"Do humor me, Master Alfred," Mr. Gray smiled as he set the blanket on the child's shoulders and gestured at the chair.

"...kay."

Once he was comfortably seated with his cocoa-Alfred found a new source of embarrassment; a heap of gifts had started to form at the foot of his chair.

Arthur cleared his throat and gave a stern look to Wy and Peter, "Children to everyone please."

"But he's had a rougher time!" Peter argued "If I ever get hit by a car I want presents! And I wanna 'em like...immediately. I'm not good at _Monopoly_ Al, but we can play that if it'll make you feel bet-"

"Besides, he missed out. The Gingerbread's all hard now," Wy continued. "And nobody's gonna want to watch _Rudolph_ or _Santa's Coming to Town_ again."

"...awww man...those are, like, the best ones..."

Arthur glanced over, "If you don't want to help score the Rugby match, we can go up and watch those."

Neither were terribly long cinematic works.

Sealand began to set one more down in front of Alfred.

"To everyone please," Arthur barked.

They grumbled as they scampered back to the tree.

He glanced around to see if the favoritism resulted in any hurt feelings, but Jet, Jake, and Pippa were laughing over some anecdote as they warmed themselves by the fire.

His brothers were spiking their drinks.

Spain had commandeered the oversized chair and had a tight hold of Romano-he was currently endeavoring to hook his foot around the leg of the ottoman Mexico was sitting on with Seychelles. Once he succeeded he began pulling the furniture piece closer.

Tex shook his head at his father's antics, but leaned over the back of the chair to chat with him.

Hong Kong was opening his gift from Eire.

Olivia was sorting through music CDs to help set the mood.

Alaska and Canada were on the window seat. The former nodding now and again as the latter spoke.

And Alfred was seated beside him…

He released the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"What did you get baby?" Hawaii asked gently as she approached nibbling at a peppermint sprinkled scone..

"This," Alfred murmured softly as he held up a very small blue gift bag. "This is from Mr. Gray."

Arthur blinked. So she could say baby without repercussion?

Wait. Where were his manners?

He looked around to mouth a thank you to the man for thinking of his child. It was awfully thoughtful, but Mr. Gray had vanished along with his beverage cart.

Alfred softly read aloud the tag more to himself than to either of them: " _So glad to meet you, looking forward to more visits._ " From the white tissue he extracted-

"Aww, luggage tag protectors and they have my flag on 'em! Look!" Alfred showed the two off.

"Very nice."

"Lovely."

Hawaii and England "oohed" and "ahhed" as Alfred went through presents.

The boy tried to play it off that he didn't mind if they watched or not, but there was something rather adorable in how pleased he was to have their attentions. He kept glancing back up to see if they were still watching.

Alfred frowned as he picked up a small fairly flat newspaper wrapped gift.

"Oh! Oh wait!" Tex snapped sarcastically as he moved from his spot. He scrounged through the discarded trimmings surrounding Peter. Triumphantly, he crossed the room and then slapped a red bow on his present.

"There ya go Princess."

"Texas," Momilani scolded.

Alfred plucked the bow as if admiring it and sneered, "It's friggin' exquisite. You outdid yourself."

The coldness in that sent a chill around the room and several light conversations stopped.

Arthur felt his heart fall because...there it was again...cynicism delivered in a tone that was all too familiar.

"Alfred," Arthur chided softly.

"Right."

Alfred hopped down to sort through the velvet bag and pulled out a good sized rectangular package and set it down hard on Tex's feet.

Tex stifled a swear and then pulled out a swiss army knife from his pocket to open it.

Arthur stared, "And you just...sleep with that?"

"It's under two inches and doesn't lock into place."

He frowned and breathed heavily through his nose as he made short work of the outer package. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as he pulled out a large shoe box.

He then tried really hard not to smile,"...Al...I told you a card would be fine…"

Alfred crossed his arms as he leaned against his chair for support, "Yeah...and I would've grabbed one of those for you too, and done something clever with it like laced it up and had it rest behind on the tongue or hole punched it or something but I got kinda dead. Look, you've been staring at those for weeks, what? Ya wanna fight about it?"

Tex shook his head, "...you...browsed through my history tab."

"You don't clear the cache like I tell you to."

"God, I wanna be angry at your snooping-but I LOVE these."

He pulled out a hideously tacky pair of steel toe boots decorated in the fashion of the Lone Star Flag.

"...I'm puttin' em on right now!" He squealed. "Real beauts. And a belt. You got me a belt too? And just look at that buckle!"

A metal monstrosity.

A longhorn skull against a backdrop of the lad's flag.

TEXAS was engraved into it.

Arthur's eyebrows twitched.

"I LOVE it all!"

"You would," Mexico sneered. "Hashtag Tacky Texas."

"S'perfect."

"Perfectly ugly. Se ve ridículo. And those pajamas! I can't even! Ugh!"

"Mejico be nice to your hermano. He may be color blind. But he's confident and confidence is always sexy."

Romano made a disgusted face, "That's your kid. S'matter with you?"

"God, I wish they came with mute buttons. C'mon open yours already Alfie, you're magic now and maybe your banshee shriek'll turn _**her**_ into stone. That'd be _**my**_ Christmas miracle."

"...OKAY!" Alfred sat down and tore apart the newspaper wrapping to shreds.

Apparently, the hostility between them had...evaporated.

Hawaii winked at Arthur and sat down on the couch near him, "That's just how they operate. They can never stay mad. They pop and fizz but they always settle."

Alfred pulled out an envelope.

"OMG….it's tickets."

"It ain't to that musical, I'm stickin' to my guns," Brown eyes glanced Arthur's way. "You're in the immediate vicinity ya might wanna prepare for it though." He clapped his hands over his ears.

"EEEEEEEE!"

Arthur startled.

"Like a rabid dolphin," Eire commented. "In a meatgrinder."

"Damn, she didn't turn."

"Idiota."

Tex shrugged, "Maybe next year, when you level up."

"And?" Alfred got on his knees and shuffled forward. He breathed loudly in anticipation hopeful stars in his eyes at his elder brother. "Pleeeeeeease? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Al," he whined.

"Pretty please with sugar, and cream, and cherries, and sprinkles, and caramel and chocolate and-"

Tex sighed and then sighed again, "I will dress with you on the _first_ day."

For a moment Alfred was perfectly still.

"I can now remove the box of patterns that I've stored under the secret floorboard in my room waiting for this day. YES! Hooooo…." Alfred flopped back dramatically on the floor. "I need a moment...to let the euphoria pass."

"Take five."

"Yes, okay I will...Hey...there's a third ticket…" Alfred murmured questioningly.

"Leavin' it up to you buckeroo. I know there's three of em in that there movie."

"The Golden Trio."

"Yeah, whatever."

"And you said you slept through the movies."

"I tried."

"Alright, so we've got a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. We just need like a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw or a broomstick referee and it'll be awesome! I promise you we will have Quidditch robes fit for demigods. I will spare no expense. I will use real leather."

Arthur eyed the Universal Studio Park tickets-a bit rankled that Texas had chosen such a pleasing gift. He'd need to find out what the date of the trip was and see if he could arrange a visit then.

Alfred almost loved that series as much as he did, and he hadn't had the opportunity to visit either park.

"Guess we can start quizzing people," Tex muttered.

Arthur looked Texas up and down doubtfully, " _You're_ a Slytherin?"

Tex smirked, snapped his fingers, and pointed to America.

Alfred shrugged and rolled onto his side to look up at him and play with the laces on Arthur's one shoe. He was careful not to touch the injured foot.

"Yeah; I was like...super duper depressed about it for a long time…"

"Cried like a little girl over a melted Barbie-"

"You never just say that I cry like Mexico. She's a girl."

"Mexico doesn't cry like a girl. She cusses like an angry drunk man. I think she learned it from Papi."

The swearing that followed that statement proved him right.

"...Anyways, I went to all sorts of sites and took and retook and flat out lied to try and get different results but then...but then they started making the socks for them. I embraced it because...ya know...I AM ambitious. Cuz if you're not content sittin' on the sidelines daydreaming...then you...should get up and get in the game and try. I mean...if you've got dreams...you gotta try and make 'em come true, right? Even if it means you might fail or...get people all mad at you or...laugh or..." He chewed his lip, "Right?"

"Right," Arthur smiled.

Alfred's dreamer qualities were always what saved him.

They were what Arthur was depending on now.

Roanoke's dream of having a family...he wanted to make that one come true.

He glanced around. Now that it was clear Alfred and Texas were not going to have a standoff, everyone had relaxed.

It wasn't a perfect family...there was plenty of dysfunction and personal flaws and drama...but there was more than enough love in it. If Alfred could just take his own advice and try to open himself to it.

"C'mere you!"

The Texan grinned a bit wickedly as he tickled Alfred before hoisting him up into a hug, "And hey you're here too. SANDWICH!"

Hawaii laughed as she was pulled in and Alfred giggled as he was lightly squashed between them.

Arthur settled himself back and smiled before reaching for his velvet bag.

"Peter, Wy, won't you help me pass these out?"

He was careful to avoid pulling out the ones that weren't from him.

He didn't want to rob Alfred's "thunder."

Australia appreciated his kaleidoscope and his season of cricket tickets.

Lots of tickets. Goodness. He'd purchased lots of tickets this year: Hockey for Mathieu, Ballet for Olivia, Classical Orchestra for Kaoru, Music Festival tickets for Pippa, Football for Jake, and a cruise for Michelle.

The girls also got a few well-wrapped glass figurines: a hummingbird for Pippa, a paintbrush for Wy, a ballerina for Olivia, and a brightly colored angelfish for Michelle.

Sealand was eager to take over the tele to play his stack of new video games.

Wy got her coveted art tablet with multiple pen nibs and a new foldup art easel chair combo.

It was such a joy to see them react so happily to his gifts. He loved spoiling them when he could afford it. Still, there was something a bit melancholy about purchasing increasingly grown up things for his wards. The more expensive their wishlists became with adult desires, the fewer gifts he could purchase each year. He tried to spend roughly the same amount on each child.

And so it was an unexpected pleasure buying a fresh copy of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,_ a 3D Hogwarts Puzzle, several absurdly large tubs of Legos, and a Roller Coaster K'nex.

"My God…" Hawaii muttered. "Arthur...are you trying to maim us? Is this some sort of passive-aggressive stealth attack?"

"It's the perfect storm," Tex gasped. "It's half past midnight, yeh just wanna drink of milk and-I'm getting Lego Empire State Building flashbacks! I'm gonna get shanked!"

"Alfie baby?"

"Yeah?" Alfred was marveling at the boxes with the awe that Arthur had been missing..

Arthur felt a deep welling of satisfaction watching his child trace his hands over the images on the boxes. He giggled a bit each time he glanced at his gifts.

"Those are living room toys, right baby?" Momilani coaxed.

"Hmm."

"We don't play with those in the kitchen."

"Hmm."

"Baby?"

"Huh?"

"Those toys are nice but-"

"Yes! Right! They _**are**_ nice. Thank you DADDY!" Alfred flung himself at Arthur for a hug and Arthur basked in the glow of childish joy.

He tried not to be disappointed when the boy wriggled his way free.

Alfred then sat down with the bag and began digging out items, "Soooooo….I got candies, and chocolates, and fancy popcorns and StarBucks $15 cards for everybody!" He hefted out a small heavy package and tore it open. "Except for you, you like that other place: Costa so that's what you got."

Arthur stared, "Alfred that's...that's entirely too many."

"Nuh uh," Alfred counted up one small stack and handed it Arthur "They're for everybody. I counted the staff roster." He remarked looking terribly pleased with himself.

It was completely unnecessary.

Alfred lowered his voice, "I felt bad about the vines and stuff."

"I...I'm sure they'll appreciate that. I'll make sure to inform them of their caffeine benefactor."

Alfred beamed and his chest puffed with pride.

"Huzzah!" Alfred cheered and in a singsong voice he announced, "And I got this for Uncle Al. And this for Uncle Reilley. And this for Uncle Rhys. And this for Hawaii and-and Alaska...maple syrup...for that guy...over there by Alaska," Sealand and Wy delivered the gifts diligently.

Arthur sighed; they were STILL having troubles?

He frowned at Canada who sighed and didn't return eye contact.

Alfred then blushed a bit and laughed and dug out a smaller Amazon package.

"And this...this is...for you. You're kinda hard to shop for. I don't know what tech stuff you need so I didn't...I wish I got you more stuff like you got me...but this was all I could think of and-it's also kinda funny cuz they say great minds think alike and-and-um-"

Arthur held up a hand, "You're here. You came...you're back."

He reached a hand to caress the boy's face.

"Sweet, _I_ don't need-"

Alfred grinned and thrust the gift at him.

Arthur chuckled as he opened it and smiled.

" _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,_ " he read aloud for the benefit of the rest of the room.

There were appreciative chuckles.

"Great minds indeed," Arthur echoed as he flipped through the pages fondly. His hand lingered on the pristine back cover.

Blast, he wasn't carrying a pen.

Alfred's eyes were focused on where Arthur's hand was resting.

Their eyes met and for a moment Arthur thought he understood. How much a message there from his child would mean to him...

"It's brand new. All clean," Alfred commented. "I thought it was only fair considering how I trashed your other one."

Trashed?

 _ **Trashed?**_

He had that message memorized by heart. Engraved it in his mind's eye. Recited it to himself on particularly miserable Fourth of Julys.

 _I luv yu Daddy_

"Now you can retire that old one," Alfred informed him cheerfully.

 _Yu ar the behstest hero I no..._

For a moment words failed him.

 _Bettir than Gawain…_

"I saw it in the library. It's in pretty rough shape. Sorry about all that…"

 _Yu shud hav a book to..._

"I...I _**love**_ that old one," Arthur told the child very seriously.

Alfred's eyebrows shot up, "Huh?" And then the brows scrunched together. "Yeah, I...I couldn't find an original like that one. I tried. I really did. But this one has the same illustrations. See? I tried to match it up as best I could-"

He just didn't understand what made the other one so priceless. He looked back to the blank back cover.

 _Luv...yor littel Alfred..._

He didn't want to make a scene or alarm the child, "Thank you Alfred." He ruffled the boy's hair. "It was very thoughtful."

"Huh? R-right. T-thank you too. My copy's all...beat up too. I've got tape and glue and staples holding the poor thing together. I kept telling myself to replace it but I knew it wouldn't be the same...buying it for myself..." Alfred hugged the book gently-eyes downcast.

Arthur felt a terrible flash of guilt. Alfred knew exactly what made a book precious; the tender feeling the giver had when they made the purchase with their loved one in mind.

He immediately pulled the child into a hug, "Thank you for your gift. We'll have to do a reading."

Blue eyes began to brighten, "Tonight?"

"Why not?"

Alfred grinned "I can never get any of _**them**_ to read it with me." He gestured dismissively to his fellow American nations.

"Is that so?"

"Yup…" He toyed with Arthur's pin some more "I like it when you read Gawain's lines. I can never get them quite the same."

"Hey...there's one more gift left," Jet announced. "Says it's to Alfred. Big one. Don't know how we missed it earlier."

The child beamed at him excitedly.

Jet hefted it out from behind the tree and Arthur felt his stomach plunge.

One large antique carousel toy.

That Arthur had called about weeks ago only to find it had already been purchased.

His breathing came in nervous gasps because Hop, Pilot, and Willywoolingwych were perched on top of it within a circlet of flowers.

"Oooh!" Alfred breathed. "I bet…

"Alfred?!"

He slid down and raced off.

"Where the bloody hell did that thing come from?" Arthur demanded startling his brothers into approaching it. "I thought you recruited Brownies to-"

Sealand and Wy pulled faces at it, "It's so old."

Olivia pulled them away before they could poke at it.

"We did!" Reilley argued "I dunno how they could've gotten past…"

Rhys stared hard at the tree and then at the toy, "It wasn't there a moment ago. It wasn't."

"Tha's bad juju…" Jamaica murmured.

Romano was now trying to squeeze behind Antonio, "Dammit Spain, do something!"

"Oh get out of the way," Mexico elbowed past Texas and rolled up her sleeves. "I'm not scared of taking out a little garbage. Just clear a path for me and it. And choose a spot where we can burn it and scatter the ashes to the four winds. And then I want a real breakfast. No scones. Tch."

Alfred sped back in-a bounce in his step.

Arthur panted reaching out a hand to grab the boy's elbow and pull him near, "Alfred. Alfred, wait! That's NOT from me."

The boy's next words chilled him to the bone: "I know."

"And I know just what it needs!" In his hand rested a winding key, "I keep finding this...and then it goes missing and I find it again. It's a game. It was waiting for me on our room's doorknob just now." He looked over at the toy. "And I've been hearing it in the woods a lot while I've been here. It's about time it was made mine. Teasing me. They totally owe me and they _**know**_ it."

"Alfred," He held the boy's shoulders tightly. "I can't permit it."

"Huh?"

"It could be enchanted. It could be hexed. It's too dangerous to allow it to remain."

Alfred's face fell and his voice wavered pitifully, "What're you saying? You...wanna...break it?"

His voice cracked as though Arthur was suggesting flat out blasphemy.

Arthur cupped the child's sad face, "I will find you a nice new one, a beautiful one, a bigger one...and you can have that. I will buy that, don't you worry. But we can't keep this one."

Fuck, he'd buy him a real carousel if it meant keeping him safe from UnSeelies.

Teary blue eyes darted to the side and he tried to crane his neck, "But...that's the one I liked. We saw it in the store. It's an antique. Vintage. That makes it special. And they're giving it to me now. They know I wanted it. That's why they kept playing it. So I'd come over. They must've felt bad for what happened. It's a sign of good faith. It's mine now."

A huge sense of alarm swamped Arthur; just how many strange occurrences had been happening around Alfred without him confiding in him!?

Quick. Quick Arthur ol' boy. Think of something!

"Dearheart, if you...want a special one, we can commission someone to build you one. A special one. A very special one. We could choose the music for it and everything. Just please don't go near this thing. Reilley, Rhys, Mexico-get that thing out of here."

Alfred's eyes went wide as the chosen three cautiously lifted it up, "But Hop! And Pilot and Willy!"

"We're going to check them for spells," Rhys declared. "And if they're uncontaminated they'll be swiftly returned to you."

"And if they are? If they _**are**_ contaminated?" Alfred demanded softly trying to move forward.

Unconsciously, he was starting to draw on his nation's strength. Arthur had to dig in deep or the boy was going to drag him right out of the wheelchair.

Bless him, the child was trying so hard not to panic as his beloved Hop was set on the proverbial chopping block but-

 _There was panic in the air-such a thick miasma... one could almost taste it._

" _Lieutenant Kirkland!" the man barked-reaching out and grabbing his arm in a painfully tight grip._

Lieutenant? Arthur blinked he hadn't been a lieutenant in ages...what in the world...?

" _Lieutenant, we must evacuate!"_

" _The library! I need to save what I can!" He wrestled himself away and charged down the hall-heart in his throat._

Alfred…He was seeing from Alfred's perspective.

" _Tis a fool's errand!" The man hissed after him. "The enemy's nearly upon us!"_

The enemy…

 _Smoke filled the air…_

 _Time moved forward...reversed...went backwards..._

 _The glass face on a grandfather clock cracked, sealed, cracked again as time decided which way it wanted to flow._

 _Peering through a crack in the door…and seeing...Arthur…and his men dining at the banquet table…_

England's stomach flopped.

The enemy...

 _Blue eyes narrowed and welled up. Behold his so-called family…_

Arthur pulled the stiff with horror little body tightly to himself and crooned all manner of nonsense until it went limp against him.

 _He eyed the clock. Whole again..._

 _Any time now….any time…_

There were tears against his neck.

Arthur clipped the door twice as he tried to exit the room until Alistair took pity and wheeled them down the hall.

"If the damn bunny doll thing is cursed, I'll lift it," Alistair told him point blank. "You tell him that."

 _He clenched his hands tightly. This would be the confrontation of his lifetime!_

 _He sucked in a fretful breath._

 _It had to work. It had to!_

"It's going to be alright, pet. Did you hear? Your Uncle Alba's given his word. We'll get Hop back, don't you fret," He pressed a kiss to the hot splotchy upset little cheek.

 _"Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" the old man asked from the darkness. He almost sounded afraid. "What yer askin' me for?"_

Arthur froze. He knew that voice.

He _knew_ it.

But from where?

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Harlow Monkey Experiment. Or Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer claymation movie. Or Elf the movie.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). 1812 fashion! :D Angst. Fluff. Angst. Family Drama. And crazy straws.

 **Special Warning:** You may experience feels.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! And horror stories! And hilarious comments. They helped me tremendously. I read and reread them for inspiration. Hope you enjoy this chap!

: DDD

 **Chapter 55: You Were S'posed To Stay Great**

* * *

Tex scuffed the toe of his boot. Damn, Al must've really loved those toys. He was such a hoarder it was sometimes hard to pin down which items were his absolute favorites.

Hawaii and Alaska wanted to give America a little space as was the usual norm for when America had to confront brutal disappointment head on. However, Canada wasn't going to stay put.

And if Canada wasn't staying put neither was he! His northern brother didn't have the best track record when it came to interacting with a distressed Al, so Tex was ready to intervene if the need arose.

Canada and Texas cautiously crept down the hallway to Arthur's makeshift recovery room.

Al's voice floated out to them.

"You don't have to do this old man…" their brother replied steadily. "I know that I'm...overreacting. They're just...toys."

The door was partway open and they cautiously peered in.

Dull blue eyes were fixed on the room's white crown molding.

"Hop's a very special toy. It's natural to feel strongly about this," Arthur stated calmly.

Tex was impressed, from what he could see the old Brit managed to get himself out of the wheelchair and onto the bed.

Truthfully, he'd been impressed all morning. The guy had guzzled tons of alcohol and didn't seem half as hungover as Tex, Momilani, and Rhys were. Northern Ireland didn't count. He was like the patron saint of alcohol. Reilley had just chortled at the sight of them.

" _Lightweights. You have no Day-After plans. That's why you suffer. Ha!"_

Scotland offered Tex a "fry up" but the thought of greasy food made his stomach flop.

He elbowed Matt to get a better view.

Arthur was currently resting against the headboard while Alfred was down by the foot of the bed.

"Maybe…" Alfred kicked a foot.

"I'd like to address that memory you shared with me," Arthur remarked quietly.

Tex and Canada shared a quizzical look. Memory-sharing? They were able to do that now?! Boy were they locked out of the loop!

He frowned at his little brother. Being all secretive. Now he was gonna have to get all nosy and up in his business.

Alfred leaned against the bedpost,"Yeah...sorry...I wasn't...expecting it either...it just sorta cropped up…"

"Alfred...you...no that's...you didn't do anything wrong, dear. I'm...I'm the one that must apologize." He carefully moved closer to rub Al's back.

"..."

"I know it's tardy by centuries but I am so sorry."

"...Dad…?"

"Yes?" He immediately leaned forward to better listen.

"..."

Arthur tried to shift closer and blew out a heavy breath-swallowing a grimace as his movements jarred his injured ankle.

When it became clear that Alfred wasn't going to continue, Arthur tried to revive the conversation.

"If I could take it back...If I could take it back I would. In a heartbeat! If I could reach back and get a hold of myself I'd give me such a thrashing I..." He broke off.

"..."

He rested his face in a hand, "Oh Sweet, I can't change it...I can only accept..I…" He looked up. "I'm so grateful. Just for this. Just for us to be together now. God, just for us to be talking about it..."

Alfred scoffed, "You're glad to talk about one of the worst eras of my life?"

Tex blinked. Oh wait. They weren't talking about Hop anymore were they?

"Yes. If only because you're finally ready to talk to me. You...only let me in when I'm...superfluous...when you've got some new great technological advancement to flaunt, when you've some new daring director. I'm not saying I don't enjoy those times. But I'm here for this...too."

That was a fair point. America seldom showed a side he didn't think you could handle...well ya know unless it was for intimidation purposes.

That Arthur kept getting ringside seats to Al's less than charming side said a lot.

"...yeah...I guess…" Alfred muttered noncommittally.

"Alfred?"

"What?"

"Hold me accountable," Arthur stated resolutely.

"..."

Alfred's volume dropped and both Tex and Canada strained to hear.

"...What is it you wanna hear?"

"I just want to hear you," Arthur replied. "Talk to me."

"About what? What? You want me to yell at you or something? What? What is it you want?"

"...You were still a Kirkland then…"

"Yeah...I was…" Alfred bit back confrontationally.

"It changed everything."

"Yeah well, even dreamers have to wake up and smell the roses now and then," Alfred muttered bitterly.

"I'm sorry I let you down. You thought of me as a great man...and I didn't live up to it…"

"Yeah...I thought you were…"

Ouch. "Were." Damn, that had to smart. Brown eyes snagged violet ones and they shared a grimace on Arthur's behalf.

"All of you seemed great," Alfred grumbled lowly. "And then one by one…If it's all the same to you...I'd like to skip this part. I've already gone through it enough."

"I don't understand."

"Why do you need to?" Alfred spat.

"I want you to be able to move past this."

"So...what? I can join your little magic club?" he sneered. "So I can be put back in your little deck of colony cards-"

"No; I want it for you. So you can be alive again."

"I _**am**_ alive. Hear this?" Alfred made some obnoxiously loud breaths.

"No...you're breathing, but your heart's tangled in the past and your mind charges toward the horizon. You're in pieces."

There was a terrible silence and then-

Canada almost tripped at the explosion of noise-

"AND WHOSE BLOODY FAULT IS THAT?! WHY DID YOU DO IT?! IF I'M HALF AS DARLING AS YOU CLAIM THEN WHY?! HOW COULD YOU? You were meant to prove Osha wrong! You were supposed to lov-No...don't...answer I'm...freaking out…I'm just...freaking out…" His voice dropped down to a conversational tone again. "See? I'm yelling at you...I'm sorry...I just...these are just the sort of things that lead me to act badly...it's why I don't like to think about them. I'm sorry. Can you just tell everyone out there I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the morning with...issues."

"Nothing is ruined. And the answer is simple; I'm an arse. I wish...God...I wish it was a better answer. You deserve better than that. I wish I could tell you that I was playing a part to satisfy my ruler... But I was an arse...I was an arse and because I was still...immature I...dammit...all I can tell you is that in that moment...all I could think about was how you _**broke**_ my heart-"

"And so you wanted to break _**me…**_ " Alfred growled.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. I wanted a reaction but-"

"Like I'd have given you the satisfaction-"

"I'm ashamed ...of what I've done...only now can I truly appreciate the sabotage I've personally done to our relationship…" He heaved a sigh "Afterwards...you changed your name."

"Yup. Yup, I did. You don't wake up after all that and think, oh yeah. That's a name I wanna keep. It was better to start from scratch than to try and build on something cursed like that."

Arthur shook his head,"Back then...I only…thought of my own...pain...everything you did then...it seemed like a personal blow and I wanted to land a hit."

"Well...heh...well. Ha, haha, you got me alright," Alfred's voice cracked.

"Alfred…"

"No, mission accomplished. Job well done, dude. Congrats, you sunk my battleship."

"Alfred."

Alfred pulled at his hair in frustration, "Why are you telling me this? Geez, you could've at least lied!"

"Because I'm not perfect."

"HA!" Alfred's hands slammed down on the mattress causing the springs to creak. "TRUST ME! I _**KNOW**_ that."

Tex shivered. Oooh, he was heading to the meltdown. Was Arthur really ready?

"So do I," Arthur replied evenly. "That's what I'm trying to...I'm not perfect. I never was. I never will be. And I'll never be able to fix everything...I wish I could but...I just need you to know that you don't need to be perfect either. I just need you to be you. We can find a better place then we're in right now. We just have to want it. We just have to be willing. Just have to be brave. I want to make things better. I do. Talk with me, we'll find a way."

There was another unsettling pause and then-

"I've yelled at you a lot lately..." The dull quality was creeping back into Alfred's voice. It was the tell-tale sign that he was trying to freeze you out. "That isn't fair of me."

They'd headed into no-man's land-territory Al just wasn't prepared to trek through.

"Wot?" Arthur scoffed. "You think I'm so delicate that I can't handle a good row? Hm? Don't flatter yourself boy."

Wow. There weren't a lot of people who'd goad an emotionally unstable Al into a fight. An Al who wouldn't mind the rules. Or watch his mouth. Or pull his punches.

Tch.

All this time, Tex had considered himself the only crazy enough bastard for the job. Now he was gonna have to share the title.

Arthur figured it out.

Emotionally unstable Al tended to be the most honest. All the other Als...all the other facets...

The charming negotiator...

The reckless adventurer...

The serious soldier…

The motivated scientist...

The happy-go-lucky funlover…

All of them were safe to be around...

Controlled.

And for all their genuine enthusiasm...one tablespoon of insincerity spoiled the mixture.

They were guardsmen who interacted with the outside world and blocked vulnerable spots from exploit.

"You're allowed to be angry," Arthur stated firmly.

Tex sucked in a breath. Fire in the hole!

Alfred's temper exploded, "Of course I'm STILL angry! Whether I'm 'allowed' or not! You hurt me! And you did it on purpose! You admit it! And it's not _**fair**_! Because the hero's just s'posed to forgive and for-now you're making things hard for me. I can't! I can't just say: _'All's Forgiven cuz I'm just that friggin' benevolent.'_ I...can't get over it. Okay?! Okay?! There!"

Tex shook his head as he listened to Alfred's nearly hysterical breathing pattern. He was gonna have to head in there pretty quick and do damage control.

He took a step forward and then stopped.

Arthur sounded amazingly calm, almost relieved, and even a tad amused. "Of course it's okay. No one could just 'get over it' in one morning, Sweet. I'm not saying that at all. I abused your trust. I took your esteem for me for granted...and I hurt you. I am sorry. I am."

"You were s'posed to stay great! You were s'posed to be my hero...Daddy...why couldn't you stay..." Alfred whimpered.

"I'm very sorry Sweetheart...I am...more than you'll ever know"

"I want Hop...I want Hop, he'll never change…"

"It's going to be alright."

"I want Hop!" Alfred demanded.

Tex sighed as the soft new rabbit Arthur had purchased landed outside the room-sliding right to the toes of his boots.

"...Hooooop…" was the forlorn whine.

"I know, I know….shhh now," Arthur consoled. "I know...it's alright."

Tex shook his head. Whenever the anger lost its steam and spark, the weepy phase came.

"I'm sorry. I love you...I'm trying...I _ **am**_ trying..."

The volume of the crying increased.

"I know you deserve better. I'm so sorry, Sweetling. I want to make things right. I'm trying."

Mathieu slowly backed away-spooked by the blubbering going on feet away.

Tex put his hands on his hips and stared down the rabbit on the floor.

He carefully picked the rejected toy up and strode into the room.

Arthur said his piece. Al said his.

And now Al was acting like a brat.

Arthur might've deserved the brutal tear-down he got a few seconds ago, but he didn't deserve just flat-out tantruming. Tables got broken when that crap went unchallenged.

"Oi, what's with all this caterwauling?" Tex demanded. "And why'd this rabbit get run outta town on a rail? I hope his crime matched the punishment!"

* * *

England eyed his brother's bandaged fingers.

"Oi," Scotland shook the doll. "Take it."

It had indeed been hexed then.

Damn UnSeelies.

"Rhys is working on the sheep," Alistair added.

"The carousel-"

"Mexico...disposed of it...with a bit more oomph than necessary. Staff was on hand though. Tha's why we have so many fire extinguishers..."

"I see. Thank you," he replied hoarsely as he took the toy and carefully set it in Alfred's arms.

Alistair leaned against the wall in the space between the bed and the bedside table. "Ya know it ain't gonna last though. It's old. Threadbare. It's falling to piece-"

"We'll deal with that when it comes."

"What's with you? You're uglier than usual," Alistair poked near one of Arthur's puffy eyes.

Arthur swatted him away, "It wasn't just the...toys...that got him so upset. He had a memory. He saw us...you know...dining at Madison's banquet."

"Yeah?"

Arthur twisted his fingers in the child's fringe and then released the strands.

He sighed and curled around the child.

There was one precise knock and then Rhys strode into the room with the sheep toy in tow.

Arthur noticed he was wearing gloves.

"We'll finish the bird one tomorrow," Rhys informed. He reached over Arthur to set the toy next to Alfred.

Arthur blinked. His brother usually avoided intimate gestures like that.

The child gave a few sleepy blinks as Willywoolingwych brushed against him. Blue eyes widened as he realized two of his toys had been returned.

He hugged both stuffed animals close.

There was a slight sniffle and Arthur gently brushed his knuckles against the child's cheek.

The child pressed himself into Arthur's chest.

Arthur loosely draped an arm over him. The child settled back into a doze.

And somehow Rhys was able to grasp from that small action and the heavy atmosphere, "You...talked about it...1812?! Arthur...Arthur you could have had one of us step in-"

"Why?" Arthur demanded lowly-careful not to disturb his son.

"Well, it...it's a rather painful topic…" Rhys pointed out. "Disillusionment is not an easy thing to discuss. Particularly when your involvement...lies at the heart...of…it..."

"Brigadier Kirkland," Alistair scoffed. "We should rename him Captain Obvious."

"Yes; it was painful…" Arthur admitted but didn't turn back over to face them, "Yes; It wasn't something I wanted to hear, but I _needed_ to hear it all the same."

"Still-"

"It's not about me," He hissed. "It's about him. I've been absent enough, thank you."

Yes.

He used to work himself into a huff thinking of all the tears he'd shed over the years; quiet moments on cold balconies after glittering galas, long drags in alleys following unfulfilling meetings, the bottoms of bottles as he tipped one back after another.

Arthur's resentment bubbled in the silence.

No talk about their better days.

No nostalgic smiles as families passed them on the sidewalk.

No emotion…

Long ago, it gutted Arthur to think he might be alone in his anguish. The possibility that Alfred might not care whether they were ever reconciled.

No emotion…

Later on, Arthur begrudgingly accepted that he was the one who needed to work harder to salvage their relationship. Because he had so much to answer for.

No emotion...

Then Arthur was anxious because it became clearer that the void was a defense...like the outerwall of a city...

No emotion...

And then he railed against that wall with fervor, with desperation because it was keeping them apart.

He braced himself as the cracks spread...

And Alfred went off like a levee breaking.

Arthur released a long breath.

Witnessing such grief gave no satisfaction, but at least they were able to deal with it openly now.

"Arthur…"

The Briton frowned, "Vulgar as it may sound...it was emotional pus. It had to come out. Couldn't afford anymore puttering about. It just had to happen."

He gave one of Alfred's small hands, a gentle squeeze. He smiled as little fingers twined with his.

"And before you wonder. No. I'm not angry or any other such nonsense. He needed this. He needed to know...he never has to hide himself from me."

"So...should we move Tex out?" Alistair asked, desperate to change the subject.

Arthur looked on the other side of the bed at where the Texan was sprawled-napping with his hat set over his face.

"No, he..." was very supportive. Had helped Arthur calm the child down. "No. He's not harming anything. He can stay."

"Fine," Alistair's heavy steps signaled his departure.

Arthur watched the redhead pass through the open doorway. The blond turned when Rhys didn't immediately follow suit.

Hazel eyes were studying him.

Arthur frowned.

His brother moved forward until he was right beside the bed.

Arthur half-expected the Welshman to launch into an informative speech about what had transpired after their escape from the Drawing Room.

Rhys shocked him by setting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you brawd bach."

He gave a light squeeze and then released him. Rhys then lightly passed the same hand over the space of Alfred's head.

He gave a satisfied nod and a small smile, "His aura has cleared a lot."

* * *

Alfred blinked as he came to-nose pressed against a familiar wool sweater vest.

Cologne, tea, brine...

He knew the smell, the embrace, the warmth. It was tempting to burrow into that comfort.

He pulled back as heavy, even breaths puffed across the top of his head.

Arthur was sleeping.

"You stayed…" he murmured.

It hurt...for some reason it almost hurt more to see him here than to have him absent. Because he'd really unloaded a lot on him and he wouldn't have blamed him at all for needing to go walk it off...er...he glanced at the wheelchair...wheel it off.

Green eyes fluttered open and crinkled into a smile, "Oho, someone thinks I've never endured a critical review before."

Alfred found himself speechless mouth opening and closing-the dreaded fish face of surprise.

Arthur shifted onto his back and stretched.

After all the things he'd said and Arthur wasn't fazed. Even though he like, half drowned him in woe. The dude's vest was still a little damp.

Arthur hummed a few notes of a song Alfred didn't recognize and toyed with Alfred's hair.

"You must like my hair, you always mess with it," he mumbled.

"I love you, but I am quite fond of your hair. Just like mine. A bit tamer perhaps. And gold like grain. I can stop if it bothers you though."

"I didn't say that. I...just...you...used to say...about...my eyes…?"

Dammit, he was fishing for compliments and he couldn't even help it.

"Oh that's no secret. Those bonny blues had me from Day One."

His heart fluttered rather pathetically.

"And my eyebrows?"

Arthur's mouth twitched and he traced them with his thumb, "A bit underfed in my opinion, but I suppose you couldn't inherit all of my best traits!"

Alfred tried to smother his giggles with his hands which drew Arthur's attention to them.

"And I'm fond of these hands too," he crowed-pressing the fingers to his lips.

"Stop."

Arthur froze as Alfred tugged his hands away.

"You...you can't do that," Alfred explained. "Not with me. I...I'm not...like Wy or Sealand...my hands...I-I...they've…"...been in wars and stuff...

His hands...

They were hands that had saved himself and others...but they'd destroyed plenty.

They weren't stainless. They couldn't be handled like-

Arthur took both hands carefully and studied them intently.

It reminded him of how Rhys had read them a while back.

Arthur nodded authoritatively as if the lines and flesh had revealed a whole lot.

Alfred felt a sad weight land in his stomach. Yeah...he got it...that those weren't hands that could be treated like that...anymore…

Blue eyes widened as Arthur took care to kiss the palms of both before releasing them.

"Hmph, don't know what you were going on about," Arthur shrugged. "Well-formed, dependable...and quite adorable in my professional opinion."

It put a lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry I threw Fluff!" He erupted.

"Who?"

Alfred worried at his bottom lip and pulled the soft new plush Arthur had gotten him into view.

"Well, if you're sorry. I'm sure he doesn't mind too terribly."

"Is Pilot gonna be fixed?"

"Yes, dear. Tomorrow."

It was kinda embarrassing feeling so much relief at that but…

Arthur smiled down at him.

But…

Alfred shifted closer.

But...

Warm arms tightened around him.

It did make him happy.

It seemed kinda weird and off kilter that after so many bad moments a happy one could just spring up like a daisy. It seemed like a fragile thing to set store by…

But…

He _stayed_ …

A while later Australia came in.

"Hey there, I was sent to see if you guys were stirring. We're going to watch _Elf_. We didn't get to that one you know, so you didn't miss it."

There was only one appropriate reaction to that.

Alfred pounced on Texas with the same energy he used when they had to hit the deck cuz of enemy fire, "MOVIE TIME!"

* * *

Arthur sipped at his tea as Eva raged over the phone.

" _I told you to call me the SECOND he came back! My poor little angel cake, is he alright?"_

Arthur smiled warmly, "He's my tough little fellow, he-"

" _Artie you put him on the phone. NOW!"_

What a way to speak to one's employer…

Still, he handed his cell over.

"Hi Eva!" Alfie greeted around a forkful of macaroni and cheese. "Uh-huh. Geez, you don't hafta cry about it Silly, I was coming b-No. No. Yeah...yeah I guess...it was kinda my fault see-no-yes-no. Kay. But I'm all better now and-well no...yeah I am kinda sore, but I'll be okay. Cuz I'm the her-Hm? Yeah, why? Well...yeah, I guess so I mean, he was pretty drunk last night. Yeah, they were totally partying Fratboy style when I woke up. Yup. Hm?" He blinked and stared at the phone and then handed it back, "She wants to talk to you again."

Yes, his ear would remain ringing from Eva's lecture about responsible parenting for the next hour.

Still, the holiday movie they were watching was amusing enough that all the chuckles of its audience took most of the sting out of her words.

Things were settling. He'd already had the presents in his room sent off to the royal family with his apologies that they were going to be late.

"Wanna bite?" Alfred asked. Arthur accepted and complimented the Canadian cook who'd been watching nervously from an ottoman.

Arthur had mixed feelings regarding Mathieu cooking Alfred a personally made meal.

With all the chaos abounding, the family ended up having a rather informal lunch camped out around the telly.

At first, he was pleased Mathieu was finally making an effort to repair his bond with his little brother. It was good to see him doing something kind after Alfred's rough morning.

Alfred adored the high end macaroni and cheese dish. Mathieu had used Havarti and mixed in bacon bits and peas. Alfred's apple juice also had a rather magnificent crazy straw which he enjoyed so much the staff had to bring more straws to satisfy the other children...along with Australia, Texas, and...Mexico.

Unfortunately, Texas slipped up and mentioned that Mathieu had also been outside the room but didn't enter. Meaning he'd overheard Alfred's pain and hadn't been moved into action.

For that matter, he hadn't greeted Alfred following his reanimation either.

For goodness sake, Jake had spent more time with Alfred during this trip than Mathieu had.

Still, he needed to be patient. He needed to be understanding. He needed a good moment to pull the lad aside and ask what the bloody hell was going on with him?!

Alfred had taken the peace offering very well. He was initially doubtful and Texas had to take the first bite to prove it wasn't poisoned. But half a bowl in and Alfred was slowly warming back up to his brother. Arthur wasn't as easily mollified.

But he didn't want to actively spoil things with rude if accurate observations.

He hadn't realized how deep into his brooding he'd sunk until Alfred approached him a bit shyly.

"You...you said we could watch those movies? Are you s-still down for that?"

Gracious. The other children had left for their rugby match already!

"A-a splendid idea. I think it's also a good time to ice ourselves. One pack for you and for me. And some painkillers."

Alfred was more likely to give in to the suggestion if he believed there were fewer eyes watching him for "weakness." Poor paranoid mite...

Alfred mulled it over and rubbed at his back before nodding, "Good plan."

Not too long after Arthur was comfortably reclined on the couch, foot elevated with a bag of ice. He tapped an impatient finger against the second icepack.

"Alfred? Dear?"

"Jus' a sec," He was arranging his stuffed animals so they could "watch" the movie.

"Love?"

"Done!" He hit 'Play' on the remote and crawled up onto the couch.

He squirmed until he could face the screen.

Arthur wrapped the pack in a rag set it on the boy's back.

"Brrr."

"I know pet, just for little bit. Just fifteen minutes at a time."

Alfred sighed and nodded.

It was while Rudolph and the Dentist were having their Misfit Duet, Arthur asked, "Who was that old man?"

"Huh?"

"In your memory. The one in the dark that asked if you were sure you knew-"

The child stiffened.

"I don't remember," he replied a bit too quickly.

Arthur took in a calming breath, "Sweetling, I need you to try. Can you try for me, please? I feel as if I know him, but I can't tell for certain."

Alfred rolled over-eyes wide with surprise, "You do!?"

Almost immediately, Arthur was assailed with fragments.

" _Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" The old man asked from the darkness._

 _He almost sounded afraid, "What yer askin' me for?"_

 _Alfred knew exactly what he was asking._

 _And he knew what he desperately needed:_

 _Courage._

 _To follow through._

 _To do what must be done..._

" _My soul enters a Winter from which I will not escape._

 _This, I accept. For them all, I submit. For myself, I only ask…"_

"For yourself you asked?" Arthur prompted, careful not to demand.

"I don't get what the big deal is?" Alfred complained-rubbing at his forehead in frustration. "Makes my head hurt."

Arthur kissed the tender spot, "Alfie-Sweet, UnSeelies can grant wishes in-in well...in awfully mean ways. And I...I think you may," He swallowed nervously. "Have made a less than prudent wish."

"I had to do it."

"Why?" Arthur asked breathlessly.

Alfred rested his head against Arthur's collar bone, "I dunno why. Just had to."

"Alfie please try, _**please**_?"

There was a huff of breath and then he felt Alfred truly apply himself to the task.

 _His shoulder was still aching..._

 _He smoothed the dark blue wool, fiddled with the red cuffs of his sleeves, and frowned at his brass buttons. He was already missing one. His exploits in the woods had cost him._

 _At least he'd left the tombstone shako hat back in his quarters. Hated the damned thing. Bloody uncomfortable._

 _Still…_

 _He glanced down at the conspicuous scarlet facings of his uniform._

 _Perhaps, he ought to have worn a cavalry uniform. The dark fabric might've made stealth a greater possibility. Especially when he wasn't entirely sure if the creature's origins instilled some inborn loyalty...even if it had immigrated over._

 _He had to try. Everything hinged on whether or not it could…_

The memory cut out and then returned.

 _Morale was at a low._

 _Madison was disappointed with him...that he couldn't secure Osha's aid..._

 _His generals were disappointed by his ennui, "Good men are dying like dogs out there because you can't find your motivation. We are Americans, is that not enough of a reason to have a care?"_

 _Madison's quiet serious voice was haunting him:_

" _Have you exhausted every means of securing some manner of advantage?"_

 _With neither a strong army or financial system, the outcome of the war seemed bleak indeed._

 _America had to come up with something more than just clever. It had to be beyond spectacular. Brilliant in every sense._

 _He failed._

 _The only plan he cobbled together was pure madness._

 _But if it worked..._

 _If it worked…_

Alfred shrugged disappointed, "That's all I got. I just remember the old guy as being an integral part of my Master Plan. Are you angry?"

Arthur shook his head. He was worried because as he'd stated earlier, once you threw your lot in with UnSeelies...there was no telling how things would spiral.

He cooed reassurance, "No. I'm just concerned. It's just...well it's seeming like you've crossed paths with UnSeelies before..."

Which might've explained some of their unhealthy interest in him.

"It will be alright."

The tension that had been mounting in Alfred's shoulders ebbed.

He had the feeling he was going to have to do that quite a bit since Alfred suffered a persisting misconception that ANY serious topic on which they disagreed resulted in Arthur being angry with him.

That nothing short of complete conformity and obedience pleased him.

It was highly unnerving being viewed in those terms.

One, that he was a flat personality inclined toward anger. That was very worrying because it meant Alfred still didn't feel entirely safe with him. Even with the most gross misunderstandings cleared up between them, Alfred still believed Arthur's anger could trump whatever other tender feelings he possessed. Very troubling...it meant that for all of Alfred's love...on...a deeper level...his child...was...afraid...of...him…

Machiavelli might've been intrigued by the swirl of feelings but Arthur felt rather sickened.

He took a deep breath. They'd work on that.

Two, that he didn't value individualism. Perhaps he didn't to the extremes that America did but…how could he?

Standing apart had been built into something grandiose in the boy's mind. Something special and protective.

Alfred turned social exclusion into willful isolation which gave him power in the equation. Abandonment from both of his parental figures morphed into a badge of independence.

It was a less painful reality if he'd "chosen" it. Wanted it.

But he was still a child…he still had a plethora of needs for a parent to meet.

Unbidden, the Harlow monkey experiment came to mind.

And the boy's government arose as a ghastly wire surrogate.

Do this. Go here. Fight them. Go there. Protect this. Secure that. Finish this. Master that.

Be thorough. Be accomplished. Be clever. Be impressive.

Be better...and then we can love you...

The epiphany depressed him.

So many rules and expectations no wonder Alfred instinctively balked at etiquette lessons. It infringed on what few liberties he'd managed to salvage under such oppressive circumstances.

It also fed into his obsession with the concept of freedom. He must've intrinsically known he only had corrupted fragments of it.

Neglect and independence weren't the same thing.

Medals and awards and advancements...those were acknowledgments...they weren't tokens of affection…

Arthur nuzzled their noses, "I just hate to think of _anyone_ hurting you."

As the claymation movie played out, Alfred spent most of its remaining runtime staring at Arthur with a rather soft expression.

Arthur spent it tallying positives.

His child was comfortable being held by him. Considering his initial knee-jerk reactions in October and November, that was a huge step forward. Arthur was even being sought out now for a cuddle. That was very good.

Why, Alfred was currently playing with Arthur's left hand-gauging the length and the width of the fingers and giggling when they fluttered at him and tried to stage a tickle attack.

Alfred was also enjoying more eye contact.

Green eyes looked into blue and the sweet little face smiled. He kicked his feet happily.

So young and innocent…

And yet he thought of himself as anything but…

It damn near broke his heart earlier when he seemed to think his hands weren't precious.

Add that to the list of other troubling insinuations...that he was "damaged," that he needed to be "fixed," that he needed to be "better," that he was "greedy," that he needed to content himself with "enough."

And the growing suspicion that during their estrangement Alfred had ultimately been dehumanized by the very ones he served so faithfully was inescapable.

It was no wonder now why Arthur's attempts to connect via post were sabotaged from the American end.

They'd had a young, powerful, desperate to please, immortal on their side. Arthur's influence could've mucked that up. But what had Parliament gained?

It was such a disservice to the years of loyalty they'd each paid-

Arthur blinked.

Disservice...

"Daddy?" Alfred sat up and leaned over to peer down at him.

Green eyes had gone terribly wide.

"Daddy, are you okay? You feel funny."

For a moment he dared not speak, hardly dared to feel because he didn't want to frighten his boy.

He knew.

With sudden absolute appalling certainty. He placed the voice. The creature. The crime.

It was no imagined slight. It never had been. It was-it was-it was...

He _knew._

No small insult at all. No...

Arthur KNEW.

The COWARD. How _**DARE**_ he stay silent these long years?! Ample opportunities to inform him! Make things right indeed!

A tidal wave of wrath rose in his breast.

He reached a hand up to cup his child's face.

Alfred leaned in and smiled.

Old Man Lome had granted an ill fated wish in the darkness of a basement...

A wish that had done great harm to his child...

And harm to a child was harm to its parent...

Therefore Lome's actions were a cause of great injury and disservice to England.

Wergild had to be paid or the thrummy cap needed to submit himself to Arthur's revenge.

By the laws of his land set ages ago, and the Courts of the Fae who still adhered to it, it was a Father's Right.

And Arthur intended to claim it.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	56. Chapter 56

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Robert Frost's poem: _A Servant to Servants_. Or _Santa's Slay_. Or _Gremlins_. Or the song: "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition."

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Some more drama. A Scottish motto. Note: in the U.S. having an ice cream in your pocket is illegal in quite a few states...it used to be a way to get horses to follow you home. Since, if they followed you...it wasn't stealing.

 **AN:** Hey everybody! Thank you for your reviews. I love the feedback-from the faithful every chap-reviewers to the newcomers to the symbol-makers and a special thanks to the in-depth reviews (Love those). Most Amusing Review of Chap 55: " _The feels I'm feeling from this story though *dies from feels*"_ It's official. We've had a casualty. Man down!

 **Chapter 56: UnSeelie Restraining Order**

* * *

Reilley stared-almost paralyzed with dread knowing who he'd be up against during the scrum.

Alistair laughed malevolently, "Wha's wrong little brother? Aren't cha up for a little match?"

He cracked his knuckles as he grinned.

The great oaf was gonna break him like a matchstick!

Miraculously, his phone vibrated with an incoming text, "Oh I gotta take this! Bye!"

He sprinted off the field ignoring the cries of dismay and nearly panicked when he saw that Alistair had followed with his phone out as well.

"Trust Art to ruin my fun," Alistair grumbled.

Reilley found the group text message was to the point.

 _Meet me in the Nursery. Now._

"What is it noooow?" Alistair moaned.

"I...don't know," Rhys answered-startling them with his sudden appearance. "But he's upset."

North and Scot shared an aggravated expression.

Dammit, there was always something more. Artie could never be satisfied unless he was ruling with an iron fist.

It reminded him of Arthur's toddler years where he seemed to expect everyone to clean up after him whenever he decided to throw things. He'd throw his toys across the room and then whinge that it was out of reach.

Both redheads paused in front of the nursery door.

"You go first," Alistair ordered. "You're younger."

"Nah, you go first. Age before beauty."

The double swat Rhys employed to the backs of their heads let them know what a more "hands-on" Rhys was like. It felt a lot like 400 B.C.

Nope, they didn't appreciate having it back.

"Eire. Open the door," Rhys demanded.

Reilley sighed.

"Good," Arthur greeted as they came in. "There are matters that have come to light which must be discussed immed-" Arthur's lip curled at the sight of his mud splattered brothers.

Scotland raised a bushy eyebrow, "Yeh said to get here."

"You trekked mud all through the halls, didn't you?"

Reilley fidgeted and then pointed to his nephew who was perched on a desk, "He trekked mud in."

"He's seven. You're supposed to be an adult...and a role model!"

"Yeh made it sound urgent ya idgit. And what're you hobblin' around on crutches fer, yeh want to have a bum leg til New Year's?" Alistair growled.

Rhys pulled butcher paper from a roll in the corner.

Wy used to use it for her projects until she felt she was a professional. Which meant nothing but expensive supplies would do.

Rhys laid it on the floor.

"Stand on this."

Begrudgingly, they did so.

"Yer crowding me," Alistair barked and pushed Reilley to far end of it.

Alfred was toweling his hair dry, "Hi!"

His suspenders hadn't yet been strapped on and one of his shoes was untied.

Reilley gave a slight wave which Alfred returned.

"I see, he took a bath, so glad for the update. Thank you," Alistair rolled his eyes.

"Dad said we had to have an emergency Kirkland-Jones Clan Meeting. I dunno if my side got my texts though, so...they might be kinda late."

"Oh?"

"Yup."

Arthur hobbled over on crutches to stand beside Alfred, "Old Man Lome must be brought forth. Immediately. For judgment."

Well that certainly piqued their interest. Yes, the old elf was a nuisance but what he done to instill such ire?

Arthur's nostrils had flared with anger.

Lome was harmless...

"We have been denied truth. He granted a wish of Alfred's in 1814."

Rhys's head whipped to look at Alfred, "That's-that's why...on the test..you...oh dear...that's not a creature you'd want...oh…no...he granted the wish through a hex."

Alfred crossed his ankles a bit unsurely as he swung his legs.

Rhys moved chairs out of the way and then knelt down, "Come, come here. Come over. Please, Alfred. Right here. Good. Thank you. Brothers?"

"But you said the mud-"

"Hang the mud. Get over there," Arthur barked.

"Alistair. Reilley. Arthur. We need to make a glyph."

"A what?" Alfred asked.

"A four pointed star," Rhys elaborated. "No, Alfred you need to stay in the middle. It's important. Blast, we should've checked. It just didn't cross my mind to check."

"Uncle...Rhys?"

"I should've checked you for hexes. I assumed your exploits in Roanoke and the Revolution were the extent of your...experimentation."

Wales softly chanted a clarity spell.

Black lettering materialized-floating around Alfred like a celestial ring.

"What's it say?" Alfred asked-alarmed.

Rhys released an angry breath.

"Dunno," Alistair replied. "It's...gibberish."

"Huh?" Blue eyes widened.

Reilley felt his mood plummet. It'd take ages to completely remove that.

"It was a spell that didn't have an exact incantation," Alistair explained "He whipped it up on the spot."

"If you can't...break it...will I still be okay?" Alfred asked nervously.

"Of course," Rhys replied. "Of course you'll be alright. It isn't life threatening in the slightest. And we still can't lift that cooking one off of Arthur."

"WOT?!"

Reilley and Rhys pointed to Alistair who flushed bright red.

"Ack, thanks for standing with me yeh traitors."

"You hexed my cooking!?"

"He just kept layering it on," Reilley put in.

"Why the bloody hell would you do that?!" Arthur demanded gripping his brother's shirt and snarling.

Alistair didn't flinch and snarled right back.

"You were too wee to be out, I was just trying to get you to come home, ya stupid bawheed! I thought it wasn't having an effect. So I tried it over and over. But I underestimated what a stubborn jackass you were! And that you could digest fucking charcoal!" He spat and pushed Arthur away.

"So Lome hexed you…" Rhys stated calmly-ignoring the violence going on two feet away from him. "It does explain why he's always trying to do favors...though the amount of tasks he'd have to accomplish to try and pay it off…"

Reilley frowned, "How many favors has he done for us? He offers, but I haven't put him to work."

"He's an idgit, so I never hire him," Scotland scoffed.

"He came to my house once," Rhys mentioned. "But I don't entertain much and sent him on his way."

They looked to Arthur.

He sighed and sat down on a desk-setting his crutches to one side, "One. I had him deliver a letter to the UnSeelie Court."

There was a beat of silence and then Alistair and Reilley laughed harshly.

"Oh, I almost feel bad for the blighter now. One favor. One? Like that can stack the odds in his favor."

Reilley sniggered appreciatively.

"What're you gonna do to him?" Alfred asked. "What's a 'judgment' entail exactly?"

Rhys cleared his throat, "We've a long and rich history of warrior codes. One that proved particularly popular in our own Celtic identity and that received even more reinforcement with the the arrival of the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, was weregild. Why, it thrived quite nicely through Cnut's reign and he legislated it rather admirably. I daresay the practice lasted up through the 1400s for my nation at least-"

"AMERICAAAA!"

Reilley had to jump out of the way of a seemingly crazed flying mint bunny.

"Oh Alfie I just heard!"

"Oomphf!"

She smacked hard into Alfred's belly-and knocked him back into Arthur.

"Mint!" Arthur squawked-hoisting the child up into his lap and attempting to unlatch her little paws from the child's shirt. "What the devil are you doing to my poor lamb?"

She nuzzled her face into Alfred's shirt, "Oh Alfred, I felt so bad when I heard. If I'd been there I could've warned you! O Albion, I'm soooo sorry-"

"W-wot?" Arthur stared perplexed.

"Um, Mint?" Alfred chewed at his lip, "I...I didn't get a chance to tell them yet…"

Which resulted in every eye focusing on him.

Mint froze, glanced up, gaped at Alfred, and muttered, "...I like you Alfie….I do but...you're...kind of an idiot, aren't you?"

"MINT!" Arthur gasped indignantly.

Alfred shifted to look up at his father, "...um, yeah….sooo this isn't the best segue into this but...can I get an UnSeelie restraining order? Is that a thing I can do?"

* * *

Alfred tried not to fidget under his family's stares. It would've been easier if Alaska, Hawaii, and Texas had been present, but they all texted: BUSY when he asked if they could spare a sec.

So he was on his own.

He sighed; it was supposed to be a productive trip into town.

"Wednesday, December 23rd, 7:35 am," He announced. "I knew I had to leave early if we were gonna make it back before we were missed. But there was no way I could know then that my good intentions would devolve into a catalyst for chaos. That I was about to embark on a frustrating chain of events."

"I like the film noir tone you're layin' on Alfie-boy."

"Thanks. It helps me with sequencing."

He explained how Mr. White had been understandably reluctant. Kept rattling off about contracts and needing to "clear it."

"-But clearing it would've taken a bunch of time and then it wouldn't've been a surprise anymore. So I had to think on my toes...it being Christmas time I asked about the man's family and about the expensive stuff they wanted...I made a business decision to make it worth his while and-"

"You bribed our chauffeur," Rhys interrupted bluntly.

"Well... _ **yeah**_ , I wanted him to do what _**I**_ wanted him to. So...duh." Alfred scratched an ear as he gauged their weird expressions. "Ya know, I've come a long way since the XYZ Affair. I get it now. Money's like grease for the gears. It's like supply and demand and rarity and value. I mean, I knew he didn't wanna go up against you guys so I threw in a bit more to tip the scale."

"Dammit man," Alistair's thrifty sensibilities were agonized at the blatant wastefulness. "How much did that bouquet cost? Why didn't ya just use an online website that delivered? Ya could've cut out some middlemen!"

They just didn't get it!

"I wanted to pick it out special. Myself!" he snapped. "I didn't wanna shell out and get some limp leafed wilted roses. That would suck!"

Alfred looked around ready for more arguments, but noticed that Arthur had raised a hand for silence from his brothers. He then motioned for Alfred to go on.

"K-kay...so we drove there and he parked out in front. It was cold. Real cold. Like having an ice cream cone in your pocket that leaks. Anyways, the lady at the florist shop was a dingbat and so I ended up arguing with her. I didn't tip. I always tip so that was big."

"America...are you gonna get to the point any time this century?" Mint asked.

"I'm laying out the scene. Don't rush me! Or I'll go into what I was wearing! My sneakers! My favorites! And I still don't know if they made it or not!"

"Albion!" she whined-leaving Alfred's lap to perch on Arthur's shoulder. "Look, I'll just tell-"

"Mint," he warned. His eyes remained on Alfred.

Alfred took a deep breath, "The florist wouldn't do it up in the colors I wanted since it wasn't Valentine's day. I could do red, gold, and green or red, white, and green or silver and white and it really ticked me off. So I finally just bought ribbon from there and decided that I'd do it myself...Whenever you want something done right, ya _**hafta**_ do it yourself. Which was fine cuz I knew I could do a much better job than her."

Alfred frowned as Mint let out a long sigh, but Arthur jerked the shoulder she was sitting on and she shut up.

"So I got my flowers and I arranged them and they looked great and I decided to grab some gum from a liquor shop for me and Mr. White. Since he's not a talker which makes the ride impersonal. I bought the gum and I was waiting for a good time to cross back over when…"

 _Alfred sighed and cursed the lack of big obvious crosswalks. Sure, the U.K. had some, but the rest they just left up to pedestrians. No jaywalking penalties. If you felt you could cross, by all means try. Maybe it was a population control tactic; survival of the fittest._

 _He readjusted his hold on the bouquet. He hoped it was fancy enough-maybe he should've bought those faux diamond pins you can can stick in the middle of a rose. Still, no one could mistake these for weeds._

 _He frowned as a car zoomed by. He'd gotten spoiled-depending on Arthur to lead him safely across the streets here._

 _He looked left, right, NO wait...right, left, right...right?_

 _He was about to make his move when-_

 _He gasped. There! Across the street by Mr. White and the car._

 _The creepy guy from the airport and he brought friends._

 _A brigade of tall, spindly grey creatures that moved like-like-like scarecrows. They were all in baggy clothes and coats, some even had straw hats. Two were hefting bushel baskets filled with apples._

 _Their creepy black eyes and deep sockets were fixed on him. Sloppy lopsided smiles stretched their faces grotesquely and they lifted the apples._

 _He swallowed and took an instinctive step back._

 _Dammit. If he wanted to get to the car...he'd have to pass riiight by them._

 _M-maybe he could get Mr. White's attention somehow and the dude could pull the car up to him and they could make their escape?_

 _Maybe-_

" _Poor friend…so...afraid...his Daddy's not here to protect...him..."_

 _Alfred glanced down._

 _The oily black shadow under a parked Land Rover…_

 _One set of claws tapped against the car's bumper playfully._

" _Home of the...brave?" Grym snickered._

 _Shame flashed through him because…when_ _ **did**_ _America start backing down in the face of a challenge?_

 _For something so slight as fear?_

 _Fear was just awareness of peril. It sharpened the senses. It tested the spirit._

 _No, he didn't need Father coming to his rescue._

 _Hell, he was wearing the iron ring-what could they do anyway?_

 _If those monsters across the way wanted a piece of him, let 'em try._

 _If Grym wanted to rumble, so be it._

 _He'd take them all on._

 _He charged across the street._

 _It was only as he lay staring up at the steel grey sky...life bleeding out into the cracks of the pavement...that he heard Grym laughing at him...and he understood..._

"I got played," Alfred wrapped up.

He waited for a reaction, but silence reigned.

He glanced over.

Arthur's legs were crossed-injured one on top. His hands were tightly laced up and set on his knee.

His expression was decidedly cold as he contemplated the far wall.

And he was so still.

Everything was so quiet.

Had he shocked them all with his incompetence?

Guess it did sound kinda dumb, huh? Being goaded so easily...

Arthur's knuckles were white and the veins were starting to rise.

Hesitantly, he reached for them-surprised when the hands parted easily and enfolded his into their keep.

Good. He wasn't angry. For a minute there, Alfred thought he'd be getting the mother of all lectures about getting duped.

"I lost all your flowers they just...they just went everywhere," He sighed. "And I paid good money for them! You could've set those ones out for everybody to see."

Arthur turned to look at him, "..."

"You…" Alfred faltered. "You wouldn't have had to hide them away in your room cuz they were cheap and-"

His hand was squeezed gently.

"Those were mine…" Arthur interrupted. "I wanted them where _**I**_ could see them. I like seeing them when I wake up in the morning. I like seeing them at night when I go to bed. It's comforting to know I have someone who cares for me."

Alfred blinked and looked away as his cheeks heated up, "Oh…I...I didn't know that."

"Mmhmm."

It made sense though. It was a tangible sign of care, wasn't it? His hand was getting sweaty. He pulled it from Arthur's grip and snapped on his suspenders-half-hoping it would snap him out of the mushy feelings he was having.

Because he felt like a real piece of work. Contradictory. One minute he was battling the old man, the next he was sucking up.

Still, knowing that the gift hadn't been an embarrassment...that they'd been received exactly as he intended...made him feel strangely buoyant.

He leaned against the Briton who wrapped an arm around him.

"Sweet?" Arthur murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Downstairs in the makeshift bedroom, on the dresser, is that iron ring you like."

Alfred's head cocked to the side in curiosity.

Somehow it didn't sound like he was gonna get it a scolding about taking what wasn't his.

Arthur smiled, "I want you to have it and I want you to wear it from now on. I'm glad you had it then. Clever boy, it kept Grym from taking you. And that was his third and final chance. He won't bother you anymore."

Clever!

It was comforting to know he'd done at least one clever thing.

He pressed in.

Arthur obliged with a one-armed hug and then urged, "Now go on and get it. Quick, quick."

* * *

Canada sighed and blinked as a raindrop fell in his eye. Texas just...didn't understand rugby and didn't care to.

He just tackled whoever the hell he wanted.

He was currently submerging Romano's head in a mudpuddle. Romano was the scorekeeper!

Thankfully, an angry Spain swiftly came to the Italian's rescue, but he was no match when Mexico and Texas teamed up against him.

Romano managed to crawl away during the ensuing chaos.

The alliance lasted until Spain was defeated and then they began to wrestle with each other.

Olivia who usually filmed the matches on the sidelines ended up beside him to get better footage of the Tex-Mex brawl.

She twirled her girly purple umbrella and remarked candidly, "I don't think they know the rules or even care."

Canada nodded and then frowned as a WWII American song about a "sky pilot" played, "Texas, isn't that your phone? Tex?"

Despite being in a headlock, Tex managed to type something and then he forced them both into a roll-causing his sister to lose her grip.

Spain spat out some mud before addressing Olivia, "You filmed it, right? Those three minutes they got along, you got it, right?"

"It was a little over four, and yes, I did."

"Bueno, I'm just going to...walk it off a bit, yes?"

Canada gazed over the field-without the Kirkland brothers involved, the game had devolved into a series of mini-grudge matches.

Hong Kong and Seychelles were arguing about music.

Sealand and Wy were cheering "Aussie" and "Kiwi" as Jake and Jet tussled-ball abandoned beside them.

Jamaica was...well...waving at him and then she pointed and shrugged her shoulders.

He followed her gaze and saw Alaska and Hawaii by a garden shed talking animatedly...well...Hawaii was. She seemed to be holding an envelope and gesturing to it. Her face was contorted with anger.

It was a relief when Mr. Grey commandeered Romano's whistle and signalled the game was over.

A round of showers for all followed.

He stood in the hot water-trying to get himself psyched up for interacting with Alfred. Maybe play with him with some of his new toys. Arthur had really gone out of his way buying presents a 7-year-old would prize.

Naturally, he'd felt terrible that his brother was hit by a car. That was awful. It was even more heartbreaking because from the sound of it-he'd been trying to do something kind for Arthur. But...it was hard when Arthur just closed himself off as a result!

He did that following the Revolution and 1812. Distanced himself. Locked the door to his study and drank himself sick. Who were they supposed to talk to, if not him? Rhys and Reilley tried to fill the void...when Arthur...lost interest in them but…

Canada sighed and shut the water off.

Now Arthur was back and he acting like all was well again. Like he hadn't just vanished during his episode of grief.

Mathieu dressed and made his way downstairs.

From what he overhead from the tail end of Seychelle and Jamaica's gossiping as he passed Pippa's room, Spain and his brood required a hosing down before they were even allowed inside. And it sounded like Tex's pajamas were toast. Why he went out in them...he'd never really know...

He was pulling a hoodie over his t-shirt when-

"Mathieu," Arthur acknowledged readily...but there was a hard edge in his tone.

Mathieu straightened his clothes.

Arthur stood in the middle of the hallway, balancing on his crutches. Where had his wheelchair gone? Was his ankle feeling better?

Mathieu inhaled a deep breath and then floundered. At a loss of how to breach the chasm that was forming between them.

Arthur sighed, "Lad...you're young, but you're not a child. I cannot intervene in your every interaction. It'd be a waste of both our time for me to stand here and lecture you about brotherhood given how you've see me interact with mine…"

Everything came back to Alfred. It was what he'd been trying to tell Alaska earlier. That he wanted to be supportive, but he felt so smothered. So tangled. Alfred was always at the center of things even when he wasn't trying to be.

" _Arthur treats him like he's the Sun of our solar system!"_

It left the rest of them in the cold...in the shadows.

All the man had said in response to his venting was:

" _He is not the Sun."_

Mathieu had been about to snap that he wasn't being literal when-

" _He caught fire...we who are closest...want to stop him burning...before there's nothing left."_

And then the Inuit man didn't speak again.

Arthur went on, "All I can tell you and it's from the heart of my own experiences is that the decisions you make now, will have consequences later. If you want a true relationship, you must make an effort."

Violet eyes studied his shoes, "I..I'll consider that…"

Arthur gave a nod and hobbled past him.

Mathieu turned, "Arthur…"

The man moved to face him again, "Yes?"

"..."

"Yes?" Arthur repeated.

"He...he was always here...even when he wasn't...you...you…"

"Carried him in my heart and thoughts?" Arthur supplied. "Of course. Always."

Mathieu felt his heart sink.

Alfred was the Golden Child…always...

Arthur frowned and took a step forward, "What's this all about?"

"..."

Arthur's feathers ruffled, "I already have Alfred doubting my sincerity at every turn, I could really do without you constantly questioning my-" He blew out an exasperated breath, "Mathieu, lad, what is it? Are you missing that damned frog? Don't let the others know, I don't want any pranks...but the phone in my room upstairs can be used for international calls. I trust you. Go on now, if you miss him."

 _I'm missing you_ , he thought miserably. When was the last time, they'd had a real conversation?

Arthur shifted, "I know we've had a trying year, but as Robert Frost contends: 'The best way out is always through.' And I would like it very much if we could all manage that together. There's been more developments regarding Gr-Don't chew on that!"

Mathieu jumped at the suddenly harsh tone, "H-huh?"

"There could be lead in that! Or other heavy metals! Don't chew on that."

The Canadian looked over his shoulder to see Alfred wearing a necklace with dog tags, a cross, and a ring.

He had part of it in his mouth like a horse's bridle.

Alfred even took that moment to whinny.

"O I will put you through your paces, if you do not desist right now, young man. I am quite serious. Spit that out. Now."

"Pwah," Alfred acquiesced, but pouted.

"Thank you, love."

"I never get to do anything fun," Alfred whined up at Mathieu-hoping for backup.

At least he was finally warming back up to him.

"Oh yes, you only get to watch movies and play games and snuggle with your toys and me. How awful for you, pet," Arthur smirked.

Alfred blushed beat red, "W-well, it's not like I get to watch _everything_ I want."

Arthur's brows came down in disapproval, "We are NOT watching horror movies."

"But-"

"It is not happening."

"But-"

"It is Christmas."

"There's Xmas ones! Like _Gremlins_! Or _Santa's Slay_!"

"No."

"But."

"No."

"Please?"

Arthur remained firm, "I appreciate that you remembered your manners, Sweet, but the answer is still no."

"You see what I'm dealing with?" Alfred gestured to Arthur. "He's not even negotiating."

"Horror is off the table. As are, all movies with adult ratings."

"And now it's getting worse! My liberty is hurting!" he clutched his side.

Arthur raised a formidable eyebrow, "I have full faith that you'll be able to select something from our collection that will amuse you."

Alfred straightened back up and released a long-suffering sigh.

Arthur looked up contemplatively, "And if not, I still think you'll still find some manner of consolation. I've found most horses are fond of sugar...and I do believe that there's a teeth-rotting-amount in the Drawing Room as we speak."

Alfred made a whickering sound and trotted down the hall.

Arthur shook his head-amused.

"Excuse us Mathieu, I fear the sugar rush that will ensue if I don't supervise," he chuckled. "We'll continue this later."

And Mathieu was left standing in the hallway; effectively abandoned.

Jet came up and slung an arm around Mathieu's neck, "Ya know, I don't think you're looking at the advantages, mate."

Canada raised an eyebrow.

"He hasn't gotten your name wrong. Even once."

Canada blinked. There was...truth in that. There was NO way he could be mistaken for America now.

"Just food for thought mate...food for thought."

* * *

Alistair stretched with his arms over his head. He looked over his supplies and himself in the standing mirror nearby.

Knives. Check.

Water in freeze-resistant thermos. Check.

Bow and arrows for light hunting. Check.

Daisy Chain. Check.

Furlined cloak. Winter boots. Enchanted Compass. Check. Check. Check.

Kilt. Check.

Undying Scottish rage. Check. Like it even needed to be on the list! Ha!

He pulled his claymore from the Ether. With a twirling flourish, he slid it home into his leather back sword scabbard.

 _They had waited for little footsteps to move out of eavesdropping range and then like a swarm of angry locusts-they made their reactions known in a deluge of Gaelic swearing._

 _Mint hid on top of the bookcase while they vented._

 _Naturally, Rhys recovered first._

 _The Welshman cleared his throat, "In my estimation, we have three threats to contend with: the ambiguity of the wish Lome granted, the UnSeelie King's unreasonable interest, and Grym the-"_

" _Bastard," Reilley finished._

 _Wales nodded gravely, "Indeed. In what order and priority shall we rank them? Albion?"_

 _Arthur shook with fury too overcome to speak._

 _There were angry tears in his eyes when he finally managed to hiss, "I'm in no shape to hunt Grym! Dammit! I want that thing's head!"_

 _It usually annoyed him to see Arthur like that. Snivelling over things that frustrated him. But this was different. This was personal. For all of them. Having a family member outright stalked and set up…in the light of day! Blatantly! Didn't even try to cover it up..._

 _It was because their governments kept outlawing capital punishment. All the damn fae thought they were goin' soft! And that they could get away with this sort of shit._

 _Alistair clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder._

" _You'll have it," Alba promised._

From what Alfred had told them, the thing laughed at him while he suffered.

No one disrespected their clan like that and lived to tell the tale.

"Nemo me impune lacessit," he recited with relish.

' _No one provokes me with impunity.'_

Alistair smirked at his reflection: O a'Goblin Hunting he would go.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	57. Chapter 57

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or K'nex. Or Andrew Lloyd Webber. Or Beowulf's Grendel.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). I am convinced that everyone has that one relative (usually a mom figure) who just enters the room-no matter what...and doesn't bat an eye. Early Hawaiian culture vs Anglo culture. Well, China kinda has a track record of...not returning U.S. tech promptly. The U.S. _**is**_ nosy...no one really denies it...but it's a no win scenario: intervene and you're a control freak bully, be inactive and you're a selfish, heartless, fiend. Family drama. Family fluff. Fluffy mold. Arthur and Alfred centered chapter .

 **AN:** It's sooo sad...school starts back up tomorrow and in the first few weeks you have to get up super flipping early to snag a parking space. I can hear the sad violins playing for me. Yeah, updates will probably slow down a bit, like they did during Fall Semester, but I won't leave you hanging. Promise. Thank you for your reviews, they've kept me inspired! Yes, to Cranberry the Cat, there were tons of creepy experiments going on. There was even the Little Albert Experiment that involved instilling a phobia to a baby...a baby! And they didn't remove it! Again thank you for your continued interest and your fantastic feedback! Hope you enjoy! : DDD

 **Chapter 57: Rusted Armor**

* * *

Alfred peeked through the gap in the door by the hinges. He'd been in the middle of building his _K'nex_ Roller Coaster when he'd had to pee. Returning from his jaunt to the bathroom, he'd overheard hushed voices in a tucked away room. Whenever that happened, he knew better than to saunter away.

Yeah, there were plenty of people who called it 'being nosy.' He called it data collection. Observation was key! The Scientific Method said so!

Jet sighed and twirled his kaleidoscope, "Mathieu's still got his knickers in a twist. I remember he wanted to be an adult so bad, he was a poor sport when I shot up by him, and now... _now_ he wants to be an anklebiter again."

"Wanti wanti can't get it, getti getti no want it," Jamaica groaned. "So done."

"You're being hard on him," Olivia complained. "No one likes being forgotten. From what he's told me it sounds like he did a lot to get Alfred back, and what thanks did he get?"

Alfred chewed his bottom lip. Yeah, he hadn't really...officially thanked his brother for helping him out of that tough Wendigo spot.

Jake plucked the kaleidoscope out of Jet's hands and stared through its eyepiece, "Some years Arthur's very busy and you just gotta deal. This is a busy year. Alfred needs a lot of maintenance."

Alfred flushed. Maintenance? Like he was a malfunctioning refrigerator?

"Nobody walks away from all that without taking a knock or three. He needs the ol' codger."

Yeah, Arthur had been babying him a lot.

Which was equal parts mortifying and...and...kinda...nice...cuz he didn't get that much from Team U.S.A...let alone his government. He was trying to walk it off, really. It was his standard procedure, but there was something...annoyingly touching about having someone tail after you to make sure...to-to...do what they could to...make things...better…

No matter how stupidly embarrassing said things made you both look.

He thought of green eyes crinkling at him and soft hands petting his hair.

Though...he sighed…

If it was causing everybody else issues...it probably wouldn't hurt to pull back some. He wasn't trying to hog all the old man's attention...it just kept...happening.

He had to show them somehow that he wasn't riding a blank check of charity.

He paused as Scotland came into view.

Alistair frowned, his bushy red eyebrows coming together fiercely, "What did I tell you about listenin' at doors?"

"I...uh...shouldn't?"

"Move."

He scuttled away to better admire his uncle's wardrobe. All Scottish Middle-Earth like...

"You're dressed hecka cool, how come?"

"I'm going hunting," the Scotsman smiled.

Alfred perked up. That'd be the perfect way to give Arthur and the others bonding time while giving himself something fun to do as well. Win-win.

With stars in his eyes, he shamelessly begged, "Can I come? Earlier in the month, you said we could go-"

Alistair grinned sharply, "Next time, laddie."

"Awwww." So much for that plan.

"Right now, I need ya to stay and watch over the idgit."

Alfred blinked, "Which one?"

Alistair gave a hearty laugh and ruffled his hair.

Alfred giggled.

Now there was his Uncle Al-back to normal at last! He glomped the man's leg and tried not to play with the garter flashes on Alistair's woolen socks. Arthur didn't mind that sort of stuff, but Alistair probably would.

His uncle's heavy square hand patted him firmly on the back. He remembered quite a few depressing balls and trade meetings ending with that. A sort of "Aye-Your-Day-Sucked" admission that let him know somebody in the room felt for him.

"Don't yeh be frettin' I'll return soon enough."

Alfred pulled back.

It was hard being left behind especially when his uncle's gray eyes glimmered with adventure.

If he'd been grown he probably could've gone with him.

A shadow loomed over him.

"Rhys," Alistair greeted.

"Alba...byddwch yn ofalus iawn."

Alfred's cheeks puffed-yup, he was gonna create a super secret language that only he and Tex could understand and then he was gonna lord it over everyone.

Alistair nodded a bit embarrassedly, "Aye, I know...I will...dunno when I'll be back though, so don't wait up."

Rhys accepted the answer and then turned to Alfred, "Arthur's wondering where you are."

He crossed his arms, "I'm fine."

The downside of all the mushy "maintenance" was that Arthur wanted him front and center all the time. No "me time" or privacy. It was kinda like when Hawaii had something to ask you. He'd had phone meetings at her bungalow interrupted because she was making dinner and wanted to know: what did he want to eat? Politics was NOT as important as family mealtime.

"Oi, you were just on your way back," Scotland remarked pointedly-looking from the door to him.

"Y-yup," he laughed uneasily.

"Ah, Rhys...there's...some reading for you to do-my room, it's bookmarked..." Alistair told him solemnly.

"I'll see to it."

He watched his uncles say goodbye. They clasped each other's shoulders in a manly-man hug.

Alistair ruffled Alfred's hair one last time and then he was off.

"Siwrne saff!" Rhys called after him.

Alistair raised a hand in acknowledgment, but didn't turn around or break stride.

Still, his uncle's threads gave him an idea.

"Hey Uncle Rhys, you know where everything is, right?"

He did.

The storage room was dark and cold as they entered, but Arthur had assured him that Grym couldn't harass him anymore. Rhys backed up the claim, explaining that lots of fae adhered to numerical rules.

He wandered with a bit more confidence knowing no claws could reach out and grab him.

He could hear Rhys's disapproval though when he announced, "Alfred, we can have some of these brought out. There's no need for us to be down here in the cold-"

"That's okay. I just want to see what's available."

Assuming the tour guide post, Rhys pointed things out, "Well this is the medieval box and it's portable hanging closet. Over here's Renaissance. These two are our most extensive collections. Their accompanying accessories are in that stack of tubs you see against the wall. They're labeled: headwear, weaponry, shoewear, etc."

"Are there any genuine articles?" Alfred asked.

"Er...yes...I-I think so, but those will be boxed up over there. They're not very suitable for-"

They were off in a dusty corner.

He ruffled through the old garments. His hands knew the fabric immediately.

He grinned as he pulled it out-hugging it fondly.

He always got a scolding for taking this one out of Arthur's wardrobe.

He giggled as he remembered Olivia and Mathieu's faces when he'd worn it in the garden years ago. Dude, they were so sour! And Arthur had been livid when he'd realized it wasn't one of the old naval coats but his fancy schmancy one!

They could go through these! That was an activity they could all do together.

Arthur was a good storyteller and he loved reminiscing. It wouldn't hurt his foot. Everybody could be involved.

The plan was PERFECT!

* * *

Arthur frowned at the open door of the storage room. He gripped the handles of his crutches and hopped closer. Was that where his boy had disappeared to?

As time lapsed and the child didn't return, his mind conjured up all sorts of frightening visions. Considering all they'd been through, it wasn't hard to overreact.

If the threat of Osha wasn't enough to contend with...

Those damned UnSeelie's!

His teeth gritted.

They'd intended to steal his child from him. From _**him**_!

The nerve!

It was a gross violation! He could count on one hand fae that had dared deal with him so insidiously!

Though their motives might have differed, they shared one thing in common: none of them lived.

He released a harsh breath. He usually dealt with such matters personally...but at least he could trust that Alba would make it as painful as possible...he had to take comfort in that.

He heard Alfred giggle and he shook his head-his hackles relaxed. What harm would it have done, if Alfred had spared two minutes to simply tell him he was headed off to a new activity?

This was what he needed Eva for; the day-to-day run around. Boy was going to wear him out at this rate.

Thank God, she was coming back on the morrow.

Rhys's voice floated over, "I really don't think that's the best one to choose. Unhygienic to say the least-"

"Alfred Sweet? What are you doing down there? Are you playing with the costumes?" Arthur called.

Alfred raced up the stairs-pleased with his "find."

Arthur eyed him and nearly choked, "Get out of that at once!"

The child grinned cheekily, "Nuh-uh, _**I'm**_ giving the orders now. I'm the almighty Admiral-ruler of the Seven Seas and keeper of the keys of Davy Jones's'szzz locker!"

Arthur snatched the aged hat off his head, "Alfred that's-"

"Oi, watch it land-lubber that-" Alfred quipped trying to grab the beaver pelt tricorne back "That be my-"

"Take that off now," Arthur demanded.

"..."

"NOW!"

The child reluctantly removed the old naval coat and Arthur wrestled it from his grasp and tossed it and the hat across the hall like poisonous things.

His crutches fell to the floor with a clatter during the struggle.

He wiped his hands on his trousers as he balanced on one foot-fingers already tingling from all the grime.

Alfred bit his lip and hesitantly reached for the fallen crutches.

"Don't bother with that," He carefully knelt down so he could pull the child close and check him over for pests.

"W-what's the big idea?" the boy mumbled. "Why'd you throw them?"

Arthur stared at him incredulously, "I can't let you play in those, they're _filthy_."

The lace was yellow and crusted and rotting right off. The trim of the hat was peeling. Not to mention...the smell of dust and decay and Good Lord...he noticed what he hadn't a few moments before...there were white fluffs of mold...

He gagged and fervently checked Alfred over again.

"What were you thinking? Rhys!" he called as the man appeared in the doorway. "Quarantine where it came from. Ugh, just look at them. Rotting to pieces. Should've thrown them out ages ago."

"You can't!" Alfred squawked.

"I should and I will, I can't believe I stored those with the costumes! I hope they didn't contaminate-"

"They were in a different box," Alfred answered.

Arthur paused and frowned, "Well if they weren't in the costume boxes why were you handling them? I remember specifically telling you, that you could play with the costumes. Those-"

America jutted out his bottom lip petulantly, "If you don't want them, you forfeit them, and they're mine now."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "No, that's not how it works. Those are going in the bin. Immediately."

Alfred gasped in genuine horror.

Arthur steadied himself against a harsh rush of vertigo from the ferocity of feeling emanating from his offspring.

"Noooo...my favorites! You can't get rid of my favorites!"

"Your favourites?" He repeated dubiously.

"You...always…" the voice dropped to almost a whisper "...came home" _To Me_ "...in those."

"I see."

So that was the reason underneath…

Arthur nodded, "I assure you I can stitch something similar, why I can make something in your size if you'd like-"

"But that's the _**real**_ thing!" Alfred groaned as if agonized that Arthur didn't 'get it.'

Arthur picked the boy up along with one crutch.

"No," He corrected gently, " _ **I'm**_ the real thing."

Because he knew with sudden inescapable insight that _that_ was what they were really talking about.

It was smudged in old letters. It was nestled in the frayed stuffing of Hop. It was boxed and treasured and hoarded in scattered, tattered trappings.

He'd been...split...into a Before and After.

Damn. He'd only caught on to the worse one.

In actuality, he was caught between _two_ caricatures of himself. There was the cold, ruthless enemy and the soft, familiar, father. Both of which were gaining alters in his child's impressionable mind-the former built up by cruel actions and attributed intentions, and the latter by way of sentimental mementos and grandiose benevolence.

Reality was a bit more complex. It was hard to tell a child that you were a very watered down version of both. That Alfred wasn't wrong precisely...but that the two facets were mixed.

He wasn't faultless, or heartless…

Alfred's eyes were still on the moldy naval coat.

Arthur thought of a faded red ribbon he'd been loathe to part with. Every fiber saturated with memory...made priceless by his heart's fondness for it.

Like father, like son indeed.

For a moment, his child went very still, struggling with the idea, and then he turned to study Arthur.

It reminded him of all the inspections he'd given his military officers-walking with the authority before the lined up men awaiting his evaluations of them. Suddenly, he felt a great rush of empathy for them.

Subconsciously, he stood a little straighter as he realized he was on the receiving end...and that his overall performance through the years was...less than impressive.

He sagged a little inside as his child admitted rather subdued, "Yes...you are."

The boy had to surrender a more pristine memory for the imperfect, tangible here and now.

Rusted armor…

He'd known that for a while…

That he stood before his son in rusted armor...

Still, it hurt his ego more than he liked to have his child acknowledge it.

He set the child carefully down and led the boy by hand, "Come on, a bath is in order. I don't want you suffering an infection. And then after dinner, we'll bring a few of the costume boxes out."

* * *

Alfred squeezed the yellow, rubber ducky, amused that Arthur had one to begin with. It clashed with his Old Empire persona.

He squeaked the ducky again.

Soooo his venture into the storage room didn't turn out quite like he thought it would.

Rather than opening Arthur up to focus on the others, it resulted in Alfred getting even more attention.

Arthur was convinced he was gonna drop dead from spores. He was even taking a shower as well, in case he'd been "contaminated."

Alfred was really tempted to make zombie jokes but...Arthur had seemed legitimately freaked out about the mold.

Guess, he shouldn't tell him about the times he's cut around it on bread or cheese during lean economic years.

Plus, he's sure that if he washed those clothes with some vinegar he could save them. Unfortunately, it would require touching them and Arthur seemed ready to break out the hazmat suits.

He scooped up some foam and blew it out of his hand.

Still, this bathroom was sweeeeet. He didn't even know about it.

Judging from the nautical theme it was probably Arthur's personalized bath quarters. He'd wondered why he never met up with the old man during the morning fight for cleanliness.

It was much bigger than the bathroom he'd been using-a semi-secluded one with the picture of an austere looking judge or something. Which at first had been a little awkward with its unintended voyeurism. He shared it with Hong Kong and Barbados since they were clean. Yeah, Olivia wasn't that fond of him being there but…she couldn't deny that he was a hygienic bathroom user.

No nasty sink with tons of hairs and toothpaste, no slippery wet floor and moist walls, and most importantly...no missing the target.

That was the hardest part about having Tony reside with him, alien biology was just...different.

Meanwhile, Tex was getting suspicious that they never waited together in a queue but...no...just no...

The dirty clothes, the hair-clogged drains, the missing towels…

Nope. Let the rest of them have a taste of that!

Gosh this bathroom was awesome!

There was a framed picture of two ships broadsiding.

There were little model ships here and there on small display shelves. He was dying to take one down and test it on the soapy waters.

He'd finally decided to just go for it and was balancing on the edge of the tub when he swore he heard the door open...but nah that couldn't be-

"Baby, we've got to talk," Hawaii began candidly.

Alfred shrieked and jumped back in the security of the suds.

She frowned, "Baby-"

"Getoutgetoutgetout! I'm... _indisposed_!"

Hawaii snorted and sassily put a hand on her hip, "Keiki, you don't have anything I haven't seen."

"Nooooooooo! Getoutgetout!"

She rolled her eyes, "So dramatic. You were like this in the 1830s, too. Honey, that's why you passed out. Remember? You were wearing all those layers-I told you to wear the malo-"

"Out!"

"No," she held up an envelope near his face. "You've been avoiding me and you've kept silent about this."

He gulped as he saw the return address.

Osha…

Damn...

O...shit...it was gonna hit the fan.

Take cover!

"Yeah," she nodded-smiling grimly. "I thought I'd do you a favor by bringing your post that was piling up at the Embassy. And lookie? Hm? I'm like Columbus-what a discovery! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"She-she's _writing_ to me?" he tried to force some surprise into his voice. "How unexpected, yet oddly formal and therefore semi-polite?"

Hawaii shook the hand holding the envelope-two more slid out from behind it...like a fan.

Crap.

"Alfred, was _**this**_ why you kept going out to the mailbox alone at home? You didn't want us to know? You thought we'd never figure it out?"

"..."

She scanned his features, "Texas knows, doesn't he?"

Dammit. This was why it was hard to win at Poker against her.

He was saved answering by a trampling of uneven footsteps.

Hawaii blinked as an outraged Briton in nothing but a towel advanced on her through the open doorway.

With shampoo dripping into his eyes and a wet plastic bag over his cast, he hobbled with menace.

His cast!

Aww, Alfred bit his lip, he should've insisted on him using the tub. That would've been way easier for him than trying to shower with a cast and bag!

"What the devil are you doing in here!?" Arthur demanded.

Hawaii sighed, "Arthur listen-"

"GET OUT!" he roared.

"Arthur listen, this involves you too."

"You will move of your own volition or I will MOVE YOU," he hissed.

Hawaii huffed but left and waved the letters ominously as she went, "We will discuss this, Alfred."

Alfred ducked down in the tub.

Geez, they both could get scary.

Arthur's chest heaved, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…she wasn't trying to be creepy. She just doesn't get why it's a big deal to me. Cuz we're family. You knew her from way back. She surfed naked."

Arthur coughed and blushed, "Yes...well..."

"And families bathing or swimming together wasn't weird but..but…"

"If it makes you uncomfortable that's reason enough" Arthur replied gently. "Enjoy the rest of your bath, I trust you won't have any more disturbances."

He closed the door behind him.

When Alfred finished up, dressed, and stepped out into the hall, he found out why Arthur had said that so confidently.

Arthur was sitting on a stool, dressed in little more than a damp robe.

"W-what?" Alfred wondered and then…

Arthur had been guarding the door.

Alfred flushed and twisted his fingers into his sleeve cuffs, "You didn't have to-you were real clear, she wasn't gonna come back..."

Arthur nodded and carefully stood up.

"...t-thank you though…"

His hair was ruffled fondly and he watched Arthur limp away to finish getting ready.

* * *

Arthur relaxed into the couch's cushions and thanked Hong Kong for bringing him a footrest.

He was going to have a heart attack...it was just a matter of time.

God, hearing his child scream earlier made him fear the worst.

Every hair stood on end at the muffled cries of fear. Every reason from spiders to spirits flew through his mind.

And if it had been a goblin, he'd have torn it apart like a Grendel.

He glared at Hawaii who shook her head and muttered, "Victorian prudes."

His face heated up and turned his eyes to the children who were exploring the costume boxes with unrestrained enthusiasm. It was usually a treat for when there was a madrigal or a fair, he might need to add it to their annual Christmas traditions.

He was very pleased with how well dinner had turned out. The beef wellington was delicious, though he worried over Alfred through a good portion of the meal.

At first he'd feared the food was too rich for Alfred's stomach since the portions on his plate weren't disappearing. That the boy was being too polite to complain and request something else. Simple foods tended to be best following a death.

The longer he watched though, he came to realize Alfred was struggling with the silverware.

His fine motor skills hadn't fully recovered yet...and he was sitting so far away, Arthur couldn't help him.

Judging from the furtive glances the child was giving the people near him, he wanted them to discreetly notice his difficulties without his outright asking for help. It left Arthur in the uncomfortable position of being very aware yet powerless to intervene. If he addressed the problem in front of everyone, he was likely to embarrass the boy. There were connotations with everything and "Daddy" ordering him to carry his plate over, so he could cut up his food like he was a tiny helpless colony, would put Alfred on the spot in a less than flattering way. Alfred was terribly concerned with appearances.

Thankfully, Rhys seemed to notice his pointed stares at his son and put two and two together swiftly. He switched places with Romano to help Alfred.

He watched Olivia help straighten the wimple of Seychelles' hennin.

The girls looked lovely-twirling in their gowns, they'd even managed to persuade Wy and Mexico to join in.

The boys had largely passed on dressing up, opting to "battle" with the play swords and shields instead.

Alfred surprised him by sitting out of the mini-war unfolding beside the fireplace.

He must've been more tired and sore than he let on.

He was sitting rather docilely on Arthur's lap as the Briton straightened the small tunic so the collar would lay correctly.

Arthur always tried to have an assortment of sizes on hand in case any of his representatives and their children felt like attending a festival with him.

He was very glad he'd created this one a few years back. At the time, it had been on a whim. It was far too small for Sealand, yet something about the blue velvet had called to him and he cut out the pattern all the same.

"Handsome?" Alfred asked-fishing for a compliment.

He smiled warmly, "Very."

Alfred beamed in satisfaction.

He'd add a bit more trim to the sleeves.

"I think my cloak would look good with it," Alfred asserted.

"I think so too. Quite fetching."

A livery collar would complete the look well-Arthur would see about modifying one of his.

He showed the boy had to tie the old styled leather belt and was pleasantly surprised when rather than racing off to play with his new toys, he asked for magical stories instead.

Particularly, ones featuring goblins.

Alfred paid rapt attention as he spoke about fighting an unpleasant goblin in Hertfordshire.

He paused at multiple times throughout, questioning if this was the type of story Alfred really wanted to hear.

"It's not as scary, knowing you've already dealt with this stuff," the child insisted.

It was plenty scary in his opinion though.

Funny how triumphant events of your past, became traumatic possibilities for the future.

When he did finally present Alfred to the Faerie Courts...Lord, he was going to be a complete bear. He knew it. His mother, while protective, had been largely hands-off in her boys' interactions with fae. O she told stories and gave advice, but she let them have their misadventures.

There was no way he'd be able to copy that philosophy, especially considering what that bodoach did.

Goading his baby to a gruesome death…

He'd never forgive it.

Reilley brought out their boxes of Christmas crackers.

Alfred turned out to be quite fond of the tradition, though he jumped a bit at the first loud POP. While he was disinclined for historical reasons to take up a colorful paper crown, he delighted in receiving a small bag of marbles, a plastic whistle, and a slip of corny jokes he recited to each of his family members...except Hawaii.

He seemed to be avoiding her.

Arthur tried to keep an eye on the child as the evening wore on.

The Americans entertained them with a few... _interesting_ carols played with a ukulele, a guitar, and a violin. Again Alfred made sure to have Texas between himself and Hawaii and then he was off about the room amusing himself here and there.

But Alfred was getting tired. Perfectly understandable. The boy began yawning and frowning in concentration as he tried to feed paper crowns into the fire.

Every time their eyes met, he motioned for the boy to come over, but he refused.

After a lively conversation with his wards where he playfully defended Andrew Lloyd Webber and his "thefts" of French works, he looked over to find his son asleep on the floor.

Reilley had noticed as well and was picking him up...no doubt the Irish weasel was intending to sneak a snuggle or two.

With an imperious glare, he immediately stretched his arms out.

If a king could proclaim all the deer in the land as his own…

Then Arthur could decree that all snuggles from ex-colonies were his. Always.

Reilley rolled his eyes, sighed, and carried him over.

Arthur felt his heart lighten as the boy was deposited in his arms.

The ever-so-slightly squirmy bundle was alive. Very alive.

It was so comforting.

He'd been so heavy and cold yesterday...

He gladly accepted a blanket from Rhys on Alfred's behalf and rocked the child gently.

Not too long after that he retired them for the night...if only because Texas kept pestering him to wake poor Alfred up so he could have a slice of pie after the staff wheeled out a cart of desserts.

He'd had to slap the lad's pushy hands away and endure a displeased Spain's glare.

He glared right back.

His child was asleep! Leave him be!

Thankfully, after he'd gotten them away, it wasn't too hard convincing the little one to wear an overlarge nightshirt. The boy was far too tired to go upstairs, change, and come back down. He'd trip and break his neck...and Arthur would have to check in for psychiatric care.

The blue tunic rested on the back of a nearby chair. They could return it to the box in the morning.

As they settled in and Alfred mumbled a "G'night, Daddy" against his collarbone, Arthur deemed the holiday a success.

At ease for the first time in days, he slipped off into slumber.

Arthur had been dreaming of a rather pleasant swim in a rather lovely cove with a rather _mischievous_ mermaid, when he abruptly woke up.

He heard the floorboards creak.

He rolled over and saw Alfred standing near the door-rocking on his feet.

Was he sleepwalking?

"Wot? Wha's wrong?" Arthur called-voice thick with lethargy.

The child jumped.

No, not asleep.

Alfred hugged both of his rabbit toys.

"What are you doing over there, pet?" Arthur immediately reached a hand out and motioned for him to come over.

The child hesitated a moment, then shuffled near, and slumped into Arthur's hug.

"There, there, love."

With hot breaths puffing against him, he hefted the child up and onto the bed-maneuvering himself back. Even though it meant surrendering his nice warm spot.

"Did you have a bad dream?" He asked.

Alfred shook his head no.

"Are you alright?"

There was a heavy sigh, "I...I thought...maybe...I should go sleep upstairs."

Arthur blinked, "Am I snoring?"

Sometimes when he was terribly exhausted, he was known to snore.

During the Sudan Campaign, he'd awoken to find Reilley attempting to gag him with one of Alistair's socks.

"Hehheh...no I just…" little fingers tightened into his pajamas "I…"

"Mmhmm?"

Alfred huffed in frustration, "I-I don't want you to take this wrong, but I don't think I should be here. I think...it'd be better if I went upstairs."

He couldn't deny the pang that went through him. Arthur was still awfully nervous from losing him and naturally wanted him near, but...Alfred was an independent spirit. He was bound to need space now and then.

Arthur had to respect it, else he'd risk straining their healing relationship.

"Oh…I see."

"No! Don't be sad, it's not you!" Alfred insisted.

"Alfred?"

He abruptly buried his face in Arthur's chest.

It didn't seem like the reaction of someone who wanted distance.

He pet the soft hair, "Sweetling, if you want to go up, you can. But you are very welcome to stay."

"...I know...but…"

"Sweet?"

He mumbled something.

"Darling? I can't hear-"

"I don't want to cause you trouble."

"What do you mean?" Arthur's paternal senses tingled and he awakened more fully.

"...I keep eating all your time. Everyone knows it. I thought...maybe if I just stole moments that no one else was taking that it'd be okay. But I could feel them watching and they swooped in, the moment I left."

"What?"

Alfred sat up, "It's making them mad."

"Them?" Uncertain if this was a family problem or an UnSeelie one.

"The-the others I-I overheard them today...they were talking about how busy you've been...with me. I don't want to...to ruin things for you...with them. So...so I think...maybe I should go upstairs. Maybe if we...aren't so close for a while-"

He gave the boy a hard poke, "America, were you told this or were you eavesdropping?"

Because if it was the former and the boy was being actively bullied for being vulnerable and needing his father…

O they'd wish Rhys was having them clean the house with toothbrushes compared to what he'd have in store for them.

"I...kinda...overheard...stuff."

Arthur frowned, "You were eavesdropping, then. I thoroughly disapprove."

Alfred wilted a bit, but snapped, "But that's how you know people aren't lying! You have to listen when they don't think you're there!"

Arthur turned the light on.

"What have we told you about policing the world?" He'd lost track of how often that cropped up during G8 meetings.

"You...you...don't like it," Alfred grumbled-squinting against the light.

"Quite so. And that's on global matters of politics and values. I assure you we certainly don't want or need you policing our feelings."

Alfred bristled, "That's not...I'm not the bad guy! Don't-don't twist it! I just..I'm trying to make things better for Mattie and Jet and Jake and stuff."

Arthur frowned, "No, you're trying to take charge of what others feel. That's _**not**_ your job. We don't need you to do that. If we have troubles, _we_ will discuss them."

Alfred pulled away and crossed his arms, "But what if the trouble is me?"

"It is NOT," Arthur winced as his voice came out much harsher than he intended.

"Are you sure?" The child whispered-arms uncrossing uncertainly.

"Absolutely."

"What should I do?"

Arthur blinked. It almost caught him off guard. Alfred had a well-established habit of deliberately not asking him for advice and ignoring whatever useful notes Arthur made to him.

"You...need to be you and know what it is you want. If any...solution you contemplate results in your unhappiness, it isn't a solution at all."

Alfred's cheeks puffed, "...that's not a real answer. That's an ambiguous China answer. Like when I ask him about tech that goes missing in his vicinity!"

Arthur sighed, "This is not a problem for you to fix, love. I told you, we'll discuss it. And we'll see what we can do."

Hopefully, Alfred's insecurities were exaggerating what he'd overheard and Arthur wasn't dealing with a hostile household of jealous children.

For God's sake, he was going to need special one on one time with Alfred. Alfred was relearning how to trust!

"...oh…"

"Now that we have that matter cleared up. What do _**you**_ want to do?"

If Alfred did sleep upstairs in his bedroom, Arthur would much prefer that it was the result of personal choice rather than misguided obligation.

"..."

"For the record though...You're never _**stealing**_ my time, Sweet. It's mine, I give it gladly. Just as you give yours."

The boy nodded-crawled forward on his knees, leaned over Arthur to turn the light off, and curled up close.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	58. Chapter 58

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Legos. Or the song: _Sunglasses at Night_. Or Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_. Or _Yugioh_. Or LittleKuriboh's Abridged Series for Yugioh. Or _War and Peace_.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Fetterman Massacre. Mourning Photography. Fluff. Drama. More Drama. Scotland can never escape the drama. Cosplay. A hint of Hemingway's main theme in that above mentioned novel.

 **AN:** Sooo school hath started...homework over-floweth and I'm heartily wishing for May to get here already. XD Thank you so much for your continued interest! All the schoolness was giving me writer's block and your reviews helped pull me through! Hope you enjoy!

 **Chapter 58: Heaven, Hell, Or Bust**

* * *

Arthur yawned and turned over-away from the morning light. He idly scratched his eyebrows noting that they were in need of a trim.

He frowned at the clear sound of giggling and turned back over.

As he cracked open a green eye, he watched a golden mop of hair duck down on the other side of the bed.

Up already?

It didn't sound like it was the work of a nightmare.

For that he was infinitely grateful...

He yawned and blinked at what was laying on the pillow parallel to his; a small handful of flowers tied with a slightly rumpled Christmas ribbon that Alfred must've swiped from the previous morning.

He picked up the small bouquet and inhaled the crisp fresh scent; aware that a set of blue eyes were watching him intently.

With his free hand he reached for the boy.

Cold clammy fingers grasped his and he helped pull the boy up.

"Good Lord," He gathered both hands to breathe on them and warm them. "You're freezing. Were you wearing your coat and gloves?"

He knew very well the gloves hadn't been used-there was dirt under his fingernails and the poor nails themselves were blue tinged. How long was he outside?

"...no...I didn't want to get it dirty."

Arthur raised a great eyebrow, "I give you a cloak and a coat...and you don't wear them."

"You can't be cross with me when I got you a present!" Alfred refuted-cheeks puffing.

"O can't I?" Arthur drawled.

Alfred tried to suppress a smile, "Nuh-uh, I'll draft a law."

"Oh my," Arthur gasped theatrically. "Certainly there's no need to _threaten_ me. Knowing your legislative style lately, it'll make _War and Peace_ look like a bookmark!"

Alfred laughed lightheartedly and tried to burrow back under the covers. Thankfully, he'd removed his shoes at some point before entering the room.

Once Arthur had the small shivery body settled close, he mused over how "cross" had cropped up. He didn't dare comment on the Britishism or no more would come.

He'd done that once after a long mission in WWI.

Alfred had commented with slang that wasn't his.

 _Arthur frowned at the American youth. He was sitting backwards in one of the few fine chairs Arthur had managed to salvage from a Zeppelin raid._

 _Tired, bored, and annoyed at watching Arthur pace about, Alfred had taken to playing with his spectacles. He was rocking the chair on its legs, when he whined, "You shouldn't get in a flap over this."_

 _The words, the tone, the delivery..._

 _He'd thought the child was blatantly mocking him and immediately snapped: "O yes, because all's jolly good indeed,_ _ **partner.**_ _" He'd made sure to exaggerate the hard western "d."_

 _Paarrrdnerrr._

 _The American abruptly remembered an "important" unnamable task he had to accomplish that second and left the Briton's tent._

 _He didn't come back._

 _In every following interaction, America was determined to be, speak, and act more American than every man in his troop combined._

 _And Arthur felt awful._

He was brought back to the moment by Alfred wriggling to get himself comfortable.

Arthur smiled at the rosy cheeks and windswept hair, "I like my gift very much, but I must insist you wear something sensible next time."

"Yeah...but if I made too much noise, I'd've woken you up! And that would've ruined the surprise. I wanted...you...you said they're good to wake up to..."

" _I like seeing them when I wake up in the morning…_

 _It's comforting to know I have someone who cares for me."_

Blue eyes stared at him earnestly and his own stung.

He crushed the boy into him.

This.

This was what he'd been aching for.

His study in London had a shelf heavy with books-pressed flowers from seasons he'd missed. Pages that he'd studied at length during their estrangement-looking with bittersweet pride as Alfred's skill with the craft grew and he moved from cramming as many blossoms as he could fit in a page to artfully arranging them.

And then in the newfound spaces, shakily penning letters that spelled out 'I luv yeu,' 'I miss yeu,' 'Com home plees.' When that skill grew strong, it was a sign he was nearing the end of his collection.

"You like them? There aren't that many...and one of 'ems missing some petals...but they were hard to find, something bad happened to the garden. Frost or blight or something."

Which meant he'd gone questing long and hard for those...

"I love them."

Arthur breathed in the fresh smell of Spring that clung to Alfred. A scent that had been buried for a time under hamburger grease and gunpowder.

It would always unsettle Arthur with its absence.

Alfred couldn't know it, but that scent left him altogether in death. In its place was the odor of dirty vase water…

The sharp smell of rotting flowers…

It broke his heart.

He buried his nose in the blond hair and inhaled again-memorizing it, indulging in it, celebrating it.

Alfred laughed lightly-the airy, slightly spitty, breathless laugh that seemed to happen when he was smiling and amusement caught him completely by surprise.

It usually appeared during a tickle attack...or...or when he was very happy.

" _I keep eating all your time. Everyone knows it._

 _I thought...maybe if I just stole moments that no one else was taking that it'd be okay...Maybe if we...aren't so close for a while..."_

Like Arthur would give this up?

Not a chance.

It just meant he had to schedule a little talk with the others...away from Alfred and sort out what the hell was going on to give the boy such a terrible impression.

* * *

Texas stretched back into the sofa and put his feet up on an ottoman. God, his new boots looked great. 'Course, when you had legs this fine, all boots looked even more magnificent.

He smiled at his little brother, who gave him a cheery wave.

Al had been in real good spirits all morning—tucked into breakfast, didn't shy from conversation, and had been pretty affectionate too. Huggin' on Tex's legs and accepting piggyback rides from Jet and Jake.

He wished they could be like that.

Unfortunately, Team U.S.A. seemed to be playing musical chairs when it came it moods.

So Al was in a good mood, Tex was in a fair mood, Momilani was in a bad mood, and Alaska was...Alaska...so...he was in his standard spot: the music operator.

Texas idly watched the television-it was too loud to really hear what the folks were saying and they were dressed too drab to really seize his interest.

Hawaii was pissed off about something and had hauled Alaska off to complain. She'd been angry since she showed up. First, he'd thought it'd been over Al's death. She never took their deaths that well and seemed to be getting worse with each additional one.

Lord Almighty, he remembered how she went into high gear following Pearl Harbor. He and Al got catapulted into WWII and its carnage. She went into military service herself reasoning that if her actions could lead to fewer enemies, her people and her "pearl babies" would be safer.

There was a portrait at his Texas Ranch House with them all in uniform. It was a pretty good one...would've been nice if Alaska smiled...but at least he stood for it.

Texas rotated an ankle-sighing with relief as it popped.

Still, with Al on the mend, he expected Momilani to wind down, so her buzzing around the place like an ornery hornet was kinda making him jumpy.

Arthur cleared his throat, Tex turned to look at him.

Jake sighed, "Admiral Killjoy," and reluctantly set Alfred down.

Arthur didn't seem to hear him and primly addressed his brother, "Now, Reilley?"

"Whaat?" the Irishman groused as he stared at a newspaper-foot jiggling as he read an article.

Arthur's eyebrow twitched, "Remember?"

"What...?"

"That-that _**thing**_ I texted you?"

"Huh?" The ginger sighed, set the newspaper down, pulled his phone out, read it, and forced a grin. "O...Right, right. Yes! Lesson time! Alfie boy!"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yup?" Alfred called from across the room.

The Kirkland brothers gaped as they noticed Alfred was halfway up the bookcase.

People always forgot how fast Al could move, 'specially if it involved rule-breaking.

America was reaching for where Tex had stashed some of his Legos.

In the future, he was going to have to be sneakier about where he hid those.

Both Europeans panicked.

"Easy now!"

"Alfred we do _**not**_ climb furniture-"

Alfred blinked and then frowned as he accused, "You swung on a chandelier and went down the drapes pirate style."

Arthur spluttered, "That-that's completely-there were goblins! And you were in danger-"

Alfred mulled that over, "Soooo if goblins are around furniture-climbing-rules go out the window?"

Arthur shuffled to a stop as he pondered over that, "Y-yes, I...I suppose..."

"Kay," Alfred chirped and pointed with one hand to his uncle, "Reilley!"

"Yes?"

"Catch me!" He made to push himself off.

Predictably, Arthur freaked, "For God's sake man catch him!"

"Ooomph!"

Reilley slid to the floor and then reclined on the floor.

"You got me!" Alfred cheered.

"Aye," Reilley wheezed-voice a bit higher than usual. "And you got _**them**_."

Tex winced in sympathy.

Alfred moved his feet, "Oops. Sorry."

While Reilley recovered, Alfred got a lecture.

Damn. Arthur sure was overreacting.

Tex shook his head. If no one had moved, Alfred would've just tucked and rolled.

They kept treating him like he was made of glass.

He scratched his chin, well at least they weren't treating him like was titanium. Poor Al, it was always one extreme or the other.

With one hand on his hips and the other pointing, Arthur upheld the archetype of scolding parent.

He wagged his finger, "That was very dangerous, young man!"

"Daaaaad, I'm like the major superpower on the globe, I'm not-"

"I don't care if you're the major superpower of the Cosmos, that was _**very**_ reckless and you could've injured yourself-"

"It wasn't that high up-"

"It was high enough. Those-those-" Arthur struggled to remember. "Those _scientists_ , you know who I mean,say just a simple trip is enough because gravity-"

"9.8 meters per second per second," Alfred sighed.

"Indeed, yes! Yes, that's it! A bump to the noggin or a twist to the neck and that's more than enough to kill a man! I could stand here for an age listing people I've lost to bad tumbles-"

"Please don't," Alfred released a longsuffering sigh, "I get it, I get it. Don't climb the bookcase…"

"And?" Arthur prompted.

"Watch my landing gear?"

"Aye," Reilley groaned.

" _And?"_

"But my stuff's still up there!"

Arthur's eyebrows twitched, "Then you ask someone to get it down."

"Oh…" Alfred paused for a beat and then looked at Arthur. "Can you get it down?"

Arthur stared at Alfred flatly, "Reilley?"

"Yes?"

"Consider this a reprieve for the day."

"...Thank you."

Arthur tapped one of his crutches decidedly on the floor, "Alfred, you seem to focus so much on the grand schemes of your desires that you fail to pay attention to details."

"Dammit, I'm getting punished for this!?"

Arthur frowned, "Watch your language...and yes."

"I just wanted the Legos!"

Arthur shook his head, "A room full of people and you can't be bothered to ask any one of them?"

"You were all the way over there!"

* * *

Alfred buffed another spoon and carefully set it into a teepee-esque shape with several others.

Hey! No one said he couldn't play around while he worked. What wasn't forbidden was allowed! And it was a good way to make friends with the staff. He still felt like he had ground to make up for with the whole vine fiasco, but his Christmas Coffee Cards had gone a pretty long way.

He'd gotten quite a few Thank You's which made him feel great!

He also got Well-Wishes cuz of the car accident which...didn't.

He wanted to be liked for being himself! Not as an object of pity-so he was doing his best to be charming and interesting.

"So there I was trying to escape an angry buffalo," he told the cook who was across the way. "and I raced right into the middle of a pack of Black Feet." He held up a butter knife, "They were all around. I thought I was done for."

"Dearie me," she kneaded dough and added in more flour.

It was probably rude calling across the room like this, but he didn't want to get polish on a food prepping station. And no one really seemed to mind. People threw in their two cents now and then as they rushed through or grabbed tea.

He'd persuaded Mrs. O'Hannagain to make an Irish Braided Bread meal with a hearty potato soup after telling her about how Reilley took a hit for the team.

She was easy to talk to cuz you couldn't scandalize her. It kinda almost became a game just to try.

He scrubbed another fork, "But lo and behold, that was a day that luck was with me."

Honestly, he was waiting for some more of those to crop up; he'd had a low supply lately.

"They thought I'd led the buffalo to them as a peace offering. Which, ya know, technically I did. Cuz that crazy sonuvabitch-"

Mr. Gray, who was sitting nearby, choked on his tea, "Master Alfred. Word choice."

"Huh? Oh...sorry...that...uh...no-good-not-nice-hairy-bellied-"

"O like I got maiden ears," the cook scoffed as slapped the mass of dough down to remove air bubbles. "I still think I got a tale what can match yeh though."

Alfred perked up, "Oho?"

Her smirk made her reddened cheeks redder, "So's I had to go pick up me niece you see? Which was already a thorn in my side as it was a busy day of planning for meh youngest son's birthday party. Nineteen, thinking she knows everything and I'm just an old dredge in the teacup of time. But I was the dredge what had transportation. Girl needed a ride, you follow me?"

"I'm following!" Alfred announced-which for some reason really seemed to amuse his fellow listeners.

The audience's job was to engage and participate. When they ask you to do a callback refrain, you do it! It was part of the fun!

"Now, what she hadn't tol' me yet was where I'd be picking her up from. So's I get there after goin' by the market and I park, and I cannot leave my bags. See one of my windows won't roll up right, but the shop wants to charge me something outrageous. So I take my groceries with me."

Alfred nodded, "I've done the same. My window was fine, but I...you pay for food and you want it to be safe."

She took up her rolling pin, and gave him a look, "She didn't tell me, that she was at a Vegan meetup."

"The horror!"

Mr. Gray coughed as several people sniggered.

"And she wasn't waitin' for me up at the front. I had to go in. I did it. I fetched her with a rotisserie chicken in my arms."

"You're a brave woman, Aoife. I could've won Nam if I'd had you."

She had a hearty laugh at that and Mr. Gray asked if he was finished with his task.

He realized with a start that he was on his last spoon.

"With this batch," Alfred murmured-feeling a little disappointed that he'd have to leave this cozy space. Then he brightened, "But I bet there's more! You can keep 'em coming."

Mr. Gray's face took on a disapproving frown, "I am certain he doesn't mean for you to polish the entire household's silverware."

He wouldn't put it past the old man. Besides, he surveyed his handiwork. He did a good job at stuff like this.

He also supposed that he kinda got the point behind this. Little things like silverware could be forgotten in the glow of a good meal, the same way rules and stuff could be glossed over when Alfred really wanted something.

They were important, even if it didn't seem like it at first glance.

Still, he'd only done a drawerful; he hadn't even broken a sweat! His fingers weren't cramped!

"Let's get you cleaned up," Mr. Gray decided, helping him reach the faucet. Their kitchen didn't have any step stools. When he'd complained, he'd been given a half-hearted, 'We'll think about adding one.'

Randolph who'd been hanging out, walked over and helped squeeze some liquid soap into Alfred's cupped hands.

"Thanks."

When he was set down, he was handed a towel.

Once he finished, it was placed back on the counter by the sink, and Mr. Gray helped him out of the overlarge apron he'd needed to keep his clothes nice.

He then suggested they take a walk.

Alfred stared, "Can...can you do that? You're sure you're not too busy?"

"I could use the fresh air, how about you?"

While pit stopping for their coats, Al took the time to show off his new cloak.

"He made it for me!"

"Very nice," the man complimented. "Are you going to wear it?"

When he'd grabbed it from their room upstairs, he'd intended to drop it off in the lower makeshift bedroom. He'd just had the sudden intense desire to show it to Mr. Gray.

Cuz…

Cuz he was so nice...

"...would you...mind?"

He didn't get to dress up as much as he'd like. Tex would drop him off at conventions and stuff, but he'd never join him. And Tony would go to _Star Trek_ stuff naked...which could be kinda awkward. Yeah, he went around the house and his UFO like that. But conventions were public spaces.

Nah, Kiku was usually his go-to guy for cosplay.

He remembered when _Yugioh_ was huge. Kiku had gone as the titular character and Alfred surprised him by showing up as Bandit Keith.

His friend had been a little embarrassed by the blatant stereotyping that had apparently whizzed by him while he enjoyed the anime.

It took a while to convince Japan it wasn't a subtle way of showing he was upset.

Cuz he wasn't.

Alfred had had a blast and took to singing _I Wear My Sunglasses At Night_ and spouting various spoof phrases from LittleKuriboh's abridged series.

"Not at all," the elderly man assured. He even helped Alfred fasten it on.

* * *

Texas knew something more was up when Arthur returned after setting Alfred to a chore. He took Antonio aside and not long after the Spaniard sprung into action.

"Niños!" he gestured for Wy and Sealand to follow him.

The hell?

"Niños," he gestured at those kids...and then to his own, "Italia, Mejico, Tejas. We have a special project to do!"

Nuh uh, no sir. Somethin' was up.

Mexico sighed and put South Italy into a headlock-walking casually behind Spain who fretted over the younger man.

They motioned for him to follow, but he crossed his arms and dug in his heels.

Nope.

They left without him.

Arthur turned the television off.

O man, stuff was going down.

Arthur set his crutches to the side of the entertainment center.

He faced them-shoulders back, head up, "It's been brought to my attention that some of you may be unhappy with how things are right now. If you do feel neglected I urge you to come to me. We will find a solution."

Texas blinked.

Was it Mr. Gray? Had his super butler powers picked up on the green eyes everywhere?

Arthur's jaw took a hard set, "I realize Alfred's presence this year has meant changes in some of our routines. But given his circumstances, I should think we can afford some charity, can't we?"

Tex stiffened unsure of where this was going and concerned that it might make things worse.

"He is overcoming a great deal of obstacles. Physical, emotional, psychological...he needs support right now and I _**will**_ give him that. He is a child. I will repeat that. He is a _child_ whom we have treated as an adult and whom his government...and mine...I fear...have treated him as a-a _thing_." He took a harsh breath, "I...I didn't plan on telling you this…"

Tex's nerves went into high gear-staring around at the faces of people he couldn't fully trust with his little brother's wellbeing.

"But I see that it's...it's necessary…the...state I found Alfred in...following his...death...he was left…" He swallowed and began again-steel in his voice the second time "He was left in a tub, in a filthy hotel room, alone. He wasn't cleaned up. He...He wasn't even...he was left in a sealed body bag." He shook his head, "No food. No clean water. No clothes. No toiletries. In one drawer he was left a Ziploc with a cellphone, some currency, and an additional Passport. That's it."

The room was uncomfortably quiet.

Tex squirmed. So other people had other procedures apparently. Theirs wasn't that weird...was it?

"That's the support net he has...That's what I walked into December 24th. Wait...excuse me no, that's not quite-there were fans in the room. You know, to deal with the smell. There. Now you know. That is Alfred's NORMAL."

Texas stood up, "Hey! I know it sounds bad like that. When you word it that way...but that's how he prefers it!"

He flushed a little at the incredulous, semi-repulsed looks sent his way. Hong Kong's eyebrows were almost disappearing into his hair.

Australia was shaking his head at him.

"Now wait! Wait just a second here," Texas pointed his index finger at the room's occupants. "I'll explain. 1870s! Kay? 1870s, we died while on campaign 'gainst the injuns. Men got us back and...well, we were popular and...uh...ya know Death pictures were all the rage...so...they set us up and posed with us. And it...well it creeped the hell out of Alfred and he made orders so's no one but me or Hawaii and well-I guess England's in now-could handle him. Okay? It's not like our government officials wouldn't have had him cleaned up, he's just...picky. Plus, stumbling on the aftermath of the Fetterman Massacre did things to him."

Barbados shook her head, "I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth. They posed with you. They _posed_ with you. With you two being dead? There are photos? There are multiple photos...did they dress you?"

Tex shrugged, "Well, yeah, lots of folks wanted tokens of serving with us. Look, we both came out with new suits. No additional cost-"

"You just keep making it worse!" Jake clapped his hands to his ears.

Tex felt himself sweating. His neck and pits were going into overtime, "H-hey these sorts of things happen. It's only a big deal, if you let it be."

Violet eyes were staring openly at him in alarm.

It wasn't weird. It wasn't. Stuff like that happens. Roll with the punches. You won't make it out if you let every snag slow you down.

"So your reviving ritual is different I take it?" Arthur nodded-making eye contact with him.

Maybe it was cuz he was so calm, it was easy to focus on him and blot everyone else out.

It was...kinda funny how he seemed so conversational now. Usually, he tried to be wary of the Englishman...given the man was prone to punching and shoving him when they clashed.

"I...I'm usually out of the bag," he admitted. To his own dismay, his tongue was loose and more followed, "I get a quick rinse off and I get the Ziploc bag of goodies. I usually ask for a pistol, too. Al doesn't have to. He can always... _acquire_ one. We don't ask how he...he just does. Ya just have to give him wiggle room ya know. He's tough and he can usually make his way back and when he can't. He's got me."

"And who do you have?" Arthur asked softly.

Tex frowned. Wasn't it obvious? "I got Al!"

"That's _**your**_ support net," the Englishman answered.

"Damn straight. Me and Al. Al and Me. To the end! Heaven, Hell, or Bust! Wherever we wind up, it'll be together! You can bank on it!"

Green eyes studied him a long time without their usual spark of barely restrained contempt or longsuffering exasperation.

If he didn't know better, he'd say Arthur was looking at him with pity.

* * *

Reilley had flushed a bit when the kitchen staff saluted him.

For his service in the Babysitting War...

" _Yer not gonna go whining like that guy in that Hemingway book, are ya?"_ Aoife had ribbed him while sporting a Cheshire grin.

Damn, the tyke got him good though and it did rankle him.

Still, he had to see the boy...if for no other reason than to stop Alfred from spreading the news like a town crier.

If it kept up at this rate, Scotland would know by nightfall wherever the hell he was. And then the real emasculating taunting would begin.

His search led him outside.

Shielding his eyes from the bit of sun that escaped the clouds and chose to harass him, he saw Alfred prancing around in his cloak.

Mr. Gray had his walking stick and the two were strolling along a very even, very safe dirt path.

Though it was also clear from Alfred's antics, he may as well have been Lugh on an epic quest.

It was a blessed thing that Mr. Gray could be counted on as an emergency child-minder.

They just had to last a few hours more and Eva would be back.

He gingerly began meandering after them and was surprised when Hawaii abruptly charged past.

He picked his speed up and admired her curvy form. He was tempted to whistle, but the set of her shoulders suggested she was as angry as a wet cat.

She was pointing at Alfred and then to the envelopes in her hand. She shook them again and one fluttered free.

As America and Hawaii squabbled, Mr. Gray picked the fallen letter up.

Reilley approached just as the man read off:

"For Master Alfred from...Osha Oron? Oronhiaté..kha-Jones...Women's Correctional Center…"

Reilley's insides turned to ice.

He plucked the envelope out of Mr. Gray's hands to better see it for himself.

His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out and in and out….and in again...

The leg of his trousers was pulled, "That's mine, Uncle Reilley."

To think, he'd left Arthur's little meeting to avoid drama and waded right into more.

"That's mine," Alfred repeated louder.

So then...Texas' little slip at Thanksgiving...it was really about this…wasn't it?

He looked over at Hawaii, at the wad of additional mail she had. She hastily drew them close to her bosom.

So...they were allowed to know and discuss it but not him and his?

"Why?" he asked, voice rough.

Alfred shuffled away from him, "I...I don't owe you explanations."

"I'm family!"

"She's family too!" he gestured at the envelope in Reilley's hands. "Gah, I knew you wouldn't understand!"

"I don't need to understand, but I do need to know about it. Jaysus…" And he'd thought removing a hex from Alfie would be the finale of their hectic holiday. He felt his mood spiral even lower. "I hafta tell him, ya know."

"We don't have to tell him," Alfred replied sharply. "None of us have to tell him."

"Alfie-boy…"

"At least not right now. We'll let the ball go by. We don't wanna ruin that. Right? Or New Year's. C'mon, Uncle Reilley? Mr. Gray? Momi? You've got my back, don't you?" He gave huge blue puppy dog eyes.

Gah! His nonalcoholic weakness!

"Master Alfred?" Mr. Gray readjusted his hold on his walking stick. "Is this from the woman who harmed you?"

The child stiffened and spluttered, "It's-it's not that simple. It's complicated."

"Yes," Hawaii answered flatly.

"Drugged his arse and jailed it in some godforsaken cabin in the woods," Reilley continued.

"She had to do it," Alfred spat. "I wouldn't have cooperated any other way."

Reilley swore hard and Alfred took another step back.

Was the boy even listening to himself?

The truth that came in that statement!?

Reilley shook his head and then snickered, "Ya know, stop me if I'm wrong, but...I don't think you'd be half so forgiving if Arthur had pulled such a stunt."

Alfred immediately got ruffled, "What're you? Of course Arthur wouldn't have-"

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because he-he lov…" He trailed off and looked away.

Reilley nodded, "Because he loves you."

Damn, but it put a lump in his throat to watch his nephew's face fall at what they were talking around.

Though the boy surprised him by ploughing right into the unmentionable.

Furious blue eyes rounded on him.

"...she _loves_ me," Alfred insisted softly, desperately.

The boy glanced to him first and then to Momilani. Finding their faces hard, he looked to Mr. Gray as the uncontaminated outsider.

Mr. Gray sighed, "I don't know her. I can't judge that."

"But you...you agree with him?" Alfred flung a hand in Reilley's direction "You think...you think Arthur…"

"I _**know**_ he adores you."

The boy's face went red and he faltered.

Like it was even a contest at this point on who the crappier parent was!

Make no mistake, Arthur was an arse but after all he'd witnessed…

His brother would eat molten glass before he ever put Alfred into a situation where his death was a suitable outcome. Osha had planned for it repeatedly.

Reilley was about to suggest they get it all over with and head back indoors when he got the fright of his life.

An irritated Rhys was suddenly at his elbow.

The Welshman had goggles on his head, a cellphone held between his ear and shoulder, and a sheep toy in his arms.

"What in the world is going on out here, y twpsyn dwl? I'm sensing seismic waves of emotions and-sorry Alba. That's not to you. Reilley? Why are you causing chwb distress-"

Reilley shoved the letter in his older brother's face.

Rhys peeled it off and studied it, "Oh."

There was a questioning sound from his phone.

"Iroquois is writing Alfred," Rhys informed their travelling brother and then frowned as Alistair's furious voice came over the phone. "Alba, swear in Gaelic. Alfred's here."

And the colorful stream of profanity abruptly changed languages.

"What...is...going...on? Out...here? I swear...my chest almost," Arthur panted as he half ran, half limped with his crutches, "Alfred, love, what-"

Rhys promptly handed the envelope to him.

Distractedly, Arthur accepted it. His eyes scanned, stopped, scanned again.

Realized what he held and then...

For a full moment he froze.

Then his lips curled, his pupils contracted, and he snarled deep in his throat.

Alfred began to cry.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	59. Chapter 59

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or the Horpipe song. Or the Dodo's song from Alice in Wonderland. Or Legos. Or Scrabble.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Fluff? Drama. DRAMA. DRAAAAMAAAA. That is all. And Angst naturally...because tears make my Mountain Dew sweeter. : D

 **Special Warning:** Derogatory Language regarding Vietnamese: "Uncle Ben's men" and the Irish: "McPaddy"

An: Thank you for your reviews! And your patience! I've been reading and rereading them for inspiration. They're my life preserver in the sea of suck known as school. We made it past 3,000 woot woooooot! And now onwards and upwards! : D

 **Chapter 59: Note To Self**

* * *

Tex sprinted with a desperation that reminded him of humid foliage, of cursing the RTO strapped to his back, of knowing there were a bunch of Uncle Ben's men chasing them and there was nothing for it. They to chance it across a minefield.

Only there was no Al at his elbow with an M1918, a grenade launcher, and a ton to swear about.

Brown eyes zeroed in on his little brother.

When Arthur sprinted out the door, he knew to follow. Their weird Anglo-American ESP Alliance had to be at work.

Bogeymen? Speeding cars?

He scanned the lawn for threats.

Dammit!

His brother was surrounded!

"Al!"

It had been hard enough shaking off a concerned Commonwealth (Australia and Canada had tried to block the door to talk to him), now he was gonna have to bulldoze through the U.K.!?

Al's shoulders were shaking.

"What're you bastards doing to him!?" Tex shouted.

Arthur turned.

There.

His insides clenched.

In Arthur's hands...an envelope...

A glance to the side revealed Hawaii holding several more.

Ah, fuck.

Considering Tex as just a momentary distraction, Arthur swiveled back to Alfred.

"Now, now, poppet. It's alright," He stated-tone overly calm. He reached over to thumb away a tear. "We'll just get a No Contact Restraining Order and she won't bother you anymo-"

Ah, crap.

Alfred caught the older man's sleeve and shook his head.

Arthur frowned and looked around for clues in other's faces.

Tex fidgeted-boots sinking into the grass.

They may as well have been standing in the middle of the tracks with a locomotive comin' full steam.

Rhys sighed.

Hawaii looked down.

Mr. Gray took a resolute step forward.

Reilley snitched, "He's been writing her! She's writing back!"

Chugga-chugga-chugga woot wooooooot and then the shit really hit the fan.

"Wot?"

It came out low and threatening.

Alfred flinched and let go.

Tex bristled, "That's why no one likes the Irish, you stupid McPaddy!"

The redhead squawked, "Yeh watch yer gob, ya bowlegged-"

" _Now Eire,_ " Came Alistair's voice over a speakerphone, _"Don't get yer knickers in a twist. He's jus' statin' facts."_

Alfred balled up his fists and stared up at the Briton, "That-that's mine. Now hand it over."

Arthur went very still.

Alfred stuck his hand out.

Ah hell, his little brother's nose was starting to run and everything.

"Hand it," America demanded.

Tex cracked his knuckles. Okay, he was in for another round with John Bull. He took a step forward but Rhys intervened.

He moved like a stealthy octopus or old school phone operator or something. For a second there, it seemed like his arms were everywhere.

He pushed his cellphone into Reilley's hand, snatched the letter from Arthur, the letters from Hawaii, and shoved them along with a sheep toy into Alfred's arms.

Rhys then pointed to a place several spans away, "I read my mail by that Birch tree there. It's private."

Taking the hint Alfred began hoofing it over to the spot. It was when he momentarily dropped the sheep and doubled back to grab it that he thought of the group he'd run out on.

"Dad?"

Arthur's face was hard and unreadable as he turned away.

Tex dodged to the side as the Briton thundered away.

Funny how a guy on crutches could seem threatening.

"Daaad?"

Arthur made no sign of hearing Al and hobbled his way back into the house.

Alfred clutched the letters to his chest, "Daaaaddy?"

As Texas moved forward, he tried not to feel like a poor substitute.

* * *

Arthur laid back against the headboard.

He felt like a paper carrier bag. He always spotted those at this time of year. Crumpled, soggy, missing a handle, and trodden flat by multitudes of feet.

Alfred was writing that woman. That horrible, awful, wicked...

He closed his eyes against the idea, the image, the reality...

Of Alfred swinging his little legs as he penned something sweet and personal to Osha-tapping his pen against his lips as he debated over what to share.

Arthur had merited one tragic letter and a curt note.

Corresponding with her!

Her!?

He rolled onto his side.

Lunch had been painful. Alfred had sat with Rhys, talking in low tones and nodding periodically. The two went off with Texas to the library-presumably for more privacy.

The Texan had practically leapt from the table-poor lad was paranoid. Perhaps, Arthur shouldn't have charmed him earlier. It had likely triggered whatever low level magic defenses the boy had.

Still, it was important to know...he needed to inform Antonio.

Arthur could've slapped himself for his ignorance. Tex's admission shouldn't have surprised him. It shouldn't have.

He sighed; it _**really**_ shouldn't have.

It was just another reason for why his own child was so confused! The two boys had constructed a protective bubble-a vow of "us against them."

It was sobering to think that they'd pinned their relationship as the only stable element in their lives.

Considering the circumstances of their "revolutions"...the lack of adult support...governmental apathy and everything else...

Goodness, how old had the boy been?

Fifteen? Sixteen?

While Alfred was...six?

No wonder they'd created an echo chamber. They were just children trying to normalize what had befallen them.

But it still angered him that Tex and Rhys condoned the letters.

More than once during the meal Rhys had caught sight of Arthur staring and leveled a frown. To which he glared back.

Arthur sighed. He'd retired to his ground floor room under the pretense of resting his foot. He'd even commented that he'd be happy for some company should anyone want to talk.

He waited in vain for one of the children...any of them to come through the partly open door.

The only visitor he received was Camelot.

Said cat was butting his head into Arthur's back in a plea for attention.

He scratched the folded ears and muttered some affectionate nonsense.

He ought to elevate his foot. He started to arrange pillows when his eyes fell on the small blue tunic hanging over the nearby chair. He looked away and focused on petting Camelot.

The door creaked.

Finally.

"So now you know and you're brooding!"

Arthur sighed-hopes dashed.

Alfred lingered at the door and played with the knob, "...you're...really butthurt over this?"

"Of course I'm hurt!" he erupted angrily.

The child jumped back.

With difficulty he reigned his temper in, "You-you-I need time to-to process-"

"Yeah...that's what Rhys said...he actually said I should give you more time," The child scuffed a shoe along the floor.

Rhys was right. Arthur needed more time. Or his temper would win and he'd lose all he'd fought so hard to gain.

Alfred sucked in a breath, crossed the room, and sat down on the bed beside him. He reached over him to pet Camelot.

Damnation.

He just couldn't do this right now.

"No, Alfred. I..." Damnation. Damn it. He felt his heart sink. He felt physically, emotionally, psychologically unready for the task. "Rhys is...is right; I can't do this right now."

He could've handled any other child's plight.

But…

Osha…

His hackles rose and until he could get himself under some semblance of control, "I'm so sorry Sweet. I need you to...take a walk, play with your toys...while I-while I-dammit-while I take time to be upset. Remember how we talked about that? About-about-"

"Yup," Alfred scratched Camelot's chin.

"Later...we can-can talk but..."

He breathed heavily, all too aware of his son's unwavering stare.

"Alfred please..." _Take pity on me._

Alfred's face screwed up with righteous indignation, "I've got rights when it comes to my mail!"

"I know." He agreed wearily-sensing the tone this conversation was going to take and fearing how well he'd hold out.

"Tex agrees with me. Rhys does too! I'm...I'm allowed to do this!" He raised a fist and stared at a corner of the ceiling in a melodramatic pose.

"Alfred-"

"Say it!" the child spat.

"..."

"SAY IT!" the child howled.

"Yes! I know! You have rights!" He barked.

Alfred nodded triumphantly and pushed on, "I'm not your pet, you don't get to decide my behavior. You don't get to-to pull on my leash when I-I do stuff you don't like...I-I-I'm NOT your pet! Say it!"

"Of course you're not a pet," He hissed. "You're _my_ **_baby_** and she **_hurt_** you!"

God.

Arthur laid back into his pillows and frowned into hands.

"...I'm not a baby."

He was vaguely surprised not to hear any venom in the protest. It just sounded a little exasperated.

"You know I'm not. I'm a sovereign nation. Just. Like. You. But cooler."

Arthur moved his hands down to his stomach and clasped them-trying to find some shred of composure.

Two little knees pushed again his arm.

They shuffled closer until they were practically on his poor arm.

He was about to demand his "right" to space when-

"I've got rights and you've got rights and...and you've...got rights to your feelings…"

It was murmured so soft and sincere...

"Yes," Arthur choked out.

Alfred pulled out a wad of folded papers from his pocket.

The letters...

The boy was trying to kill him.

Alfred waved them, "If I had reasons, would you feel better about it?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose, "I really do not wish to discuss this right now."

Alfred's brows came together in an eerily familiar furrow, "Yeah well, shoe's on the other foot now, huh? That's how I feel whenever you wanna go digging into me. Don't even give me that look, it's totally the same and you know it! I'm not sorry that I'm exercising my rights to autonomy!"

"..."

"I get to make my decisions."

When the statement went unchallenged, Alfred's face brightened considerably. He then stated more gently, "I am sorry that I didn't calculate you into it better. I knew you'd be angry...but I didn't know you'd be this upset."

"How long have you two been writing?" Arthur needed to know.

Alfred fidgeted and plucked at imaginary lint "...since…"

"Since? Since?!" He gawked. He was horrified to think that she'd still had a connection so soon after the events. No wonder he was healing so haphazardly. Arthur immediately began to question if Alfred's many nightmares were related to her letters. He hadn't had any since coming out here...since their contact had been severed.

"...I'm allowed…"

He sucked in a breath, "Did she...contact you first?"

He could picture that. Osha exploiting his child's "heroic" sense of charity. She knew he'd be bound by his honor to respond.

Alfred shook his head, "No. I wrote her."

Arthur nodded slowly and swallowed down swears, spit, rage, and despair.

The young face pouted, "...I knew...you wouldn't like it. Now you know and you're unhappy."

"I recall a very similar conversation," Arthur breathed. "About planning things behind other's backs? About justifying 'crappy' actions on the basis of preserving safety and happiness?"

Alfred paled as his own words were used against him and he looked down. He ran a hand through his hair, "You're really upset."

"You tricked me!" Arthur snarled.

"Nuh-uh. I just didn't tell you!"

"You lied through silence. Omission!"

"It's...just not really...your business!" Alfred insisted desperately.

"Not my...? Not my business?" Arthur faltered. "My child being in contact with the one who abused him in the first place and you think it's _NOT_ my business?"

Alfred rolled his eyes, "I'm fine-"

"You're _'fine'_ because I moved heaven and hell to make it so!"

Alfred stiffened.

Arthur panted heavily and forced himself to lay back. Focus on the ceiling. Focus on his breathing. Focus on-

"You're really upset," Alfred muttered for the upteenth time.

Of course he was upset! Hell, upset didn't even begin to cover it. After everything that woman did to them?! Did to Alfred?

Raw wrists, bruised injection sites, mandatory surgery, forced captivity, starvation, dehydration!

And those were just physical things!

Alfred sighed, "You know that I believe in the whole 'innocent until proven guilty-"

Arthur almost gagged. Innocent?!

" _I don't want to hurt you," the child murmured detachedly as his gun's barrel stayed on Arthur._

 _His blue eyes went vacant as he struggled for control._

" _Won't..."_

 _And then he turned the gun on himself-barrel resting on the soft place of his jaw._

 _She pushed him to that._

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He had nightmares where he couldn't wrestle it away. All his worst fears since he'd first found his child playing with his pistol centuries ago culminating in that horrific moment.

If childish ignorance had been heart-stopping, deliberate sacrifice was-No. No...He could never forgive it! Never. Never. Never. Never. NEVER.

"Stop it!"

Arthur's shoulder was shaken roughly.

"You said I could tell you anything! You said so!"

"..."

He opened his eyes.

The boy nodded, "So...I'm asking for her side first. Give her the benefit of the doubt...cuz...there's more of you guys and...you'll back up each other's narratives. And...I wanna be fair. You guys...you guys will be next. Then I can have the whole picture. And I can decide how…"

Arthur was shaking with nerves.

Alfred chewed on his lip and swallowed thickly. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, "And I...can decide how I wanna deal with...with _it_."

 ** _It_** being the slew of abuses he suffered under her hands.

He supposed he should be grateful the child was actively acknowledging but-

"She does love me, ya know..."

Green eyes focused hard on the boy. Every fiber of his being fought against that with a rage that threatened to crash over him.

"..."

"She does!" The boy repeated.

 _I'll pick up the pieces…_

 _:)_

That bloody smiley face!

O yes. O yes. Yes. She'd pick them up alright, after she let him be dashed on the rocks.

His fingers dug hard into the coverlet.

"I know you don't believe it," Alfred mumbled. "But I do. I know stuff that you don't...about her. Our past together-"

The material began to tear.

"No, I need you to listen," Alfred entreated-reaching over and resting his hand over Arthur's.

The soft warm flesh of tender, pink fingers...

She'd forced an operation that made him cut into that flesh.

Flesh of his flesh...

"Listen!" He slapped at Arthur's shoulder hard enough for it to sting.

The boy was really pushing him!

His teeth gritted.

"I gotta do this! You hear me!? I got to!" The boy insisted-little chest heaving.

Arthur growled-green eyes flashing furiously.

Alfred got up close to his face-blue fire blazing back, "I gotta know...I gotta know if I...can change this kind of stuff. Change what you can, accept what you can't. That sorta stuff. I gotta see if what happened to us doesn't have to happen to her and me!" His volume continued to increase. "And I gotta know! And I gotta know now! That whatever I decide! That it's my decision! MINE! And that whatever I choose in regards to my relationship with her that-that it...that…"

"Spit it out BOY!"

"THAT IT DOESN'T CHANGE THINGS BETWEEN US!"

"WHY WOULD IT!?" Arthur roared back.

An accusing finger shot up and poked him in the cheek, "Cuz you say be open! And then you're judgmental! Do you want me to be open or not!"

Arthur swatted the hand away, "YES; I want us to be open!"

"I don't have a dream journal!" Alfred confessed.

"Yes...yes, I...I figured that!"

"I clipped a corner on my way in here and this fell off!" Alfred dug into his other pocket and extracted a piece of plaster.

Arthur blinked, "Were you running?!"

"YES!"

"I tell you lot not to run!"

"I KNOW!"

"Are you alright?!"

"YES!...I wasn't gonna tell you and I was gonna try and fix it tonight while everybody was sleeping. But you want to be open and sooo…"

Arthur took the piece and set it on the nightstand.

"You're alright?" he repeated gently.

Alfred rotated his shoulder, "Kinda embarrassed. I seem to have it out for this house...don't tell Mr. Gray about it."

"Your shoulder's _alright_?" Arthur stressed.

"..." Alfred's mouth opened, closed, opened again. Reluctance and determination warred on his face and then he sighed, "It was my sore shoulder."

"May I take a look at it?"

Alfred fumbled with the cloak's clasp, "Yeah."

As Arthur gingerly prodded the shoulder, he apologized, "I'm sorry I...walked away I'd never want you to have the impression that I...I...I just didn't want to lose my temper and make you...afraid of me."

Alfred blinked and shook his head, "...Pfbt…I'm not scared of you. That-that's stupid."

"Sweet," He tucked golden strands behind a little ear. "I know that you're scared. I feel it."

Even now, it was there-trembling under the tacked down bravado Alfred was trying to project.

"You...feel?"

Arthur released a slow breath, "I knew I couldn't keep my anger in check—as you well saw just now-"

"Um, yeah...but…that's not-"

"Sweet, I'm so sorry-" A small hand slapped itself over his mouth.

"That wasn't…why..." Head bowed and voice timid, Alfred whispered "...I didn't wanna...lose you...again."

* * *

Alfred skipped down the hall, throwing Willywoolingwych up into the air and then catching him.

He'd gone to drop by Mr. Gray's and assure the old dude that things were okay.

In fact, they were better!

" _You could never lose me, Sweet, I'm always right here with you…" Arthur swallowed thickly and gave a shaky smile as he tapped Alfred's nose, "...though sometimes you won't see me, or feel my arms around you. It'll never mean I've abandoned you. I'm simply carrying you in my heart while I'm away. The way that I hope you-"_

" _-carry you in mine...you've...told me that before...when...when I was little..."_

" _Yes," Arthur beamed. "That's right. And it's true. It never stopped being true."_

And didn't that just turn his insides to mush? It made him feel so much lighter. He had half a mind to try his luck and his magic and attempt to float.

The butler had been mega relieved. Even Alfred, who wasn't an atmosphere-reading extraordinaire could tell that much.

 _"You could never lose me..."_

Maybe he could get Arthur to say it again and record it into his phone. Then he could hear it whenever he wanted.

Alfred had two soft cloth hooves in his and was waltzing down the hallway when-

"Crikey, if that's not a Level 3 it's definitely Level 2," Jet remarked in a hushed tone.

"We'll alternate out," Jake nodded. "It's the only way."

Alfred blinked. They were all out in the hall peering around the corner into the Drawing Room.

"I hate having to hold it, my hands get tired," Wy complained "These fingers are meant for more!"

"Make him do it, too. Be fair," Sealand demanded-having noticed Alfred.

"He's new," Australia argued with his thick brows furrowed. He turned to Alfred, "That means you get a reprieve for today. Next time though…" He gave an apologetic look, "Next time, you'll have to do your part."

"Yeah, and he'll grill you for answers."

"And you can't fidget."

"Or complain-"

Alfred felt a smile coming on. It was nice being talked to like he wasn't one of the ten plagues.

"Or he'll bore you about weather-"

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to be a better sport at their games like Tex had suggested to him a while back.

"Or he'll want to play stupid baby games," Sealand made a face.

"Alright, so Wy you'll go first," Olivia outlined "Try for twenty minutes. Opt out with a bathroom run. Sealand you'll be next. Same thing. Then Hong Kong for thirty. Myself, Jamaica, New Zealand, Australia, Canada, and if he's still going Seychelles. Anyone who doesn't serve today are up when he knits next."

Knitting?

This was all over knitting?

Alfred peeked around the corner-ignoring hushed cries of "You'll blow our cover!"

Arthur had had their rocking chair brought down and there was a basket next to it holding some yarn skeins.

The fireplace was crackling merrily with a warm fire.

"Hello there," Arthur greeted cheerfully, his injured leg propped up on a footrest.

He was still kind of pale and he looked sort of tired, but he did seem genuinely happy.

Alfred made Willy the sheep wave.

The others slowly fanned out from behind Alfred.

"If I could request a helper?" Arthur requested-gesturing for someone to hold yarn for him while he worked.

Australia sighed through his nose and then muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "You know the plan. Kiddie Squadron, you're up first."

Wy frowned and began to walk determinedly forward, when Alfred charged past her and clambered onto Arthur's lap.

Arthur laughed, "Now **_there's_** the enthusiasm I've missed!" He pulled Alfred in for a hug.

Alfred then set his hands out and Arthur made use of them.

Tch. All these years with the old man, and they never learned how to make this fun?

Well, not everyone was a word-game pro! Bah, their _Scrabble_! This was way better!

"Rhyming game," Alfred insisted. "Do the rhyming game!"

Arthur rocked the chair gently, "My goodness. I might be a little rusty."

"Rhyming game!" Alfred persisted.

Arthur smiled indulgently, "There once was a man named Jack."

"He liked to dress all in black," Alfred added.

"He had a long beard-"

"That we all thought was weird."

"So he lived alone in a shack," Arthur finished.

Alfred giggled, "Kinda reminds me of Greece."

"So it does. Art imitating life; it's your turn now, love."

"Hmmm, right!" Alfred cleared his throat. "Jack's shack was home to a cat."

Arthur's knitting needles continued working, "Which was almost remarkably fat."

"He was jolly to meet."

"If you gave him a treat," Arthur volleyed dryly.

"His name was Americat!" Alfred cried.

"Oh no you don't!" Arthur argued-setting his needles down to tickle him. "That's a lazy rhyme!"

"It goes!" Alfred shrieked.

"Lazy, lazy, lazy!"

Alfred's cheeks started to hurt from grinning.

They had two more rounds until Australia and Texas begged them to stop.

Tex had gotten down on his knees, "Pleeeease, for all that is holy. We are not on the Oregon Trail in the middle of friggin' nowhere. We don't need Word Games to pass the time. We got electricity."

" _Philistines,"_ He and his dad had both cursed under their breath and his dad had seemed pretty pleased that he knew that word.

They then chatted about various celebrities most of whom Arthur found ridiculous and who Alfred ranked by nose size.

Their conversations were punctuated with Alfred's random demands: "Say aluminum. Say herb. Say garage" and then Alfred playfully insisted a certain sailor song.

"You want me to sing the Dodo's song?" Arthur gave him a flat look.

Alfred grinned, "Yeah!"

"...you think my sailing days were like that, don't you? You cheeky thing!"

Alfred made a very weak whistle.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement.

"It's the melody!" Alfred bit out defensively.

"Is it?"

The occupants of the room whistled the Hornpipe's refrain with ease and Alfred's cheeks puffed.

Then he obnoxiously burst out the last lyric.

There was a cheer of applause and he took a sloppy bow that forced Arthur to throw down his project to keep him from toppling onto the floor.

While Barbados and Seychelles debated over what to watch, Jet shook his head, "Al...I didn't know you…"

He waved a hand at them.

Alfred cocked his head to the side.

Jet smiled and checked his watch, "Yes, well, yeh've definitely broken any of our records. We're gonna make you the go to 'helper' if you're not careful."

Arthur grinned and gave Alfred a squeeze, "O yes, Alfie's always been a good helper."

Australia blinked, "Huh?"

Alfred shrugged, "You weren't around yet, but Daddy and I used to do this all the time when autumn and winter came. Trust me New England is the place for fireside knitting."

It was true. When the weather got nippy, you were glad to have warm wool around your cold fingers.

He realized a beat too late when he received an especially affectionate nuzzle just what he'd said.

Crap.

There were a lot of eyes on him.

Crap.

Lips were twisting in amusement.

His face heated up.

Australia snickered.

Crap.

He'd effectively called himself England, Jr. without any sense of shame.

Arthur got really cuddly after that and...everyone was watching and judging and his coolness factor was decreasing and-and-and-

Ah hell with them…

He pulled Willywoolingwych close and cuddled into an embrace he'd feared losing hours earlier.

With British T.V. programming in the background, Arthur's smooth rocking, and flickers of orange firelight warming his face, he relaxed until his eyelids couldn't stay open.

He was in that happy floaty spot between waking and sleeping when he realized a grown up conversation was going on.

"I take it from your blissfully vapid expression that you've reconciled," Rhys commented.

"Yes," Arthur replied. "Thank you...I mean it...Thank you. Alfred told me you advised him to speak with me."

"W-well, he was under the impression that should his choice to maintain contact with Osha become known that he'd be forced into an ultimatum of melodramatic consequence."

"What did you tell him?" Arthur asked.

"That you have no wish to pursue a result that will breed resentment."

"Oh."

Alfred smiled to himself. That wasn't all. He squeezed the sheep toy.

Rhys continued a bit hesitantly, "I...I also said that you...love him too much to do something so stupid. Admittedly, I could've said 'drastic' but...it would have been less correct."

"...thank you…"

Rhys got rather flustered after that, "Well, a village you know? It-it takes a village-"

"I know, I know...but it makes me feel guilty when I can't provide him what he needs-"

"You'll exhaust yourself-"

"Rhys-"

"And he'll never know there are more people who care about him, than just you."

"Rhys?"

"I can get a Lego box off a shelf!" the Welshman snapped.

Arthur sounded amused, "We'll talk to him about it. How are the others handling it?"

"In their usual way," Rhys shrugged. "Reilley's upset. Alistair's angry."

"I see."

"Reilley feels we were deceived. Alistair's angry that _Alfred's_ being deceived."

"I'm at a loss," Arthur admitted. "If I insist he break ties, it'll poison our bond. But, God I'm so afraid. What if she hurts him?"

Arthur's arms tightened and he began rocking them, "What if she feeds him lies about everything?"

Alfred sighed; Tex was worried about that too. He wasn't that impressionable.

"Well, it's actually rather simple," Rhys asserted.

"Now you're the one wearing a stupid expression," Arthur muttered. "You think you've thought of something clever."

" _We'll_ write _her_."

Alfred sat up and rubbed an eye, "I don't think she'll like that."

Both men blinked as he abruptly entered the conversation.

Alfred carefully stretched, "I mean, she's kinda got issues. She still thinks it's your fault I was 'born wrong.' That if your explorers hadn't interfered-"

"You were born _perfect_ ," Arthur told him tightly through his teeth.

Alfred felt his face heat up, "She just...she just means I'd look...different if your influence hadn't been so strong."

"...you're a very handsome boy."

His face was really burning now, "Uh thanks, yeah, so...there's that. Plus, she kinda thinks... you're evil."

"And...what do you tell her?"

"You're just British."

"..."

Alfred bit his lip and then poked Arthur in his vest's breast pocket, "I'm just teasing...I know you're not evil."

Arthur's face darkened, "...I probably seemed evil to you after our second war."

"Hmm? Nah, I mean. Yeah, I was really," Devastated "Bothered by...it...but I didn't think you were evil."

"No?" Arthur asked skeptically.

"Nope," he chirped. "I just thought you didn't love me anymore."

2.3 seconds.

Was how long it took for Arthur's expression to change and for Alfred to realize he'd answered too honestly.

4.8 seconds.

And he knew he'd fucked up because Arthur was crying.

For a moment he just froze.

He'd never really learned how to effectively deal with that. It was one thing when the old man was drunk. You could laugh it off. You could call France or Scotland. You could endure it. You could grab Canada and make him deal with it. You could walk away. But...when he was honest to God sobbing…like you attacked his soul…

He couldn't just leave.

He'd been so nice to Alfred whenever he'd gotten emotional over these past few months. Heck, like today! And he'd said all that pretty stuff about hearts...

Alfred had to try to smooth it over! Here, he'd put a positive spin on it!

Note to self: Assuring someone that their perceived rejection was constructive cuz it gave you time to analyze your flaws and reinvent yourself into someone better...didn't help.

Guess Arthur would've preferred the label of evil-yet-loving, than good-but-beyond-reach.

Go figure.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	60. Chapter 60

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Hetalia_. Or _The Last Unicorn_ movie and its line: _'You can find the others if you are brave.'_ Disney's _Dumbo_ and it's soul-crushing song 'Baby Mine.' Or Alexander Dumas' _Count of Monte Cristo_.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Teensy tiny reference to the Battle of Mexico City and its snipers.

 **An:** Thank you for the reviews! : DDD I had a flash of inspiration avalanche over me and managed to crank this one out pretty fast. Yesss. Gotta go do that Real Life thing and finish my homework now. XD Enjoy!

 **Chapter 60: One Trick Pony**

* * *

Alfred wrapped his arms around his knees. Talk about putting your foot in it.

Arthur had just...lost it...almost hysterically informing everybody that he loved them all very much. Always had. Always would.

And he'd squeezed Alfred so tightly his back cracked.

In morbid fascination, the American watched the others spring into action.

Supplying him with tea and scones and turning on soft background music and talking poetry and showing happy photos on their phones and…

Just…

Knowing a whole bunch of ways to make Arthur feel better...

Alfred stared at his feet then over at the window.

He was a one trick pony.

And now it was raining again...he'd have to be super stealthy if he was gonna slip out for a bouquet now.

It'd also mean he'd have to search even further out which would mean entering the woods. Cuz he'd already picked over what was left in easy reach. But in the woods...there could be primroses and mistletoe. That could look nice, if he arranged it right.

Jamaica was next to Arthur now.

Mattie, Jet, and Jake had set down blankets next to the fireplace and made Arthur sit in the middle. So everybody could be close and they could take turns sitting with him; assuring him that they knew he cared and reminiscing about times he'd come through for them.

"-when mah dress split up the side, oh thought I was done fer. But you were able to fix it while we were riding in the carriage. Bumpin' along the cobblestone and everythin' mon. I-"

Alfred kinda wanted to stay out of the way and let them work their magic since Arthur was definitely calming down.

He carefully scooted his way to the edge of of the blanket.

If only he could be on some kind of quest like Alistair, then he could just bring back something. Something really great and valuable. Something like...like...Arthur's wand...

But where would goblins keep a wand?

Maybe Mint would know. He hadn't seen her in a while. Maybe she was outside? While he was hunting down flora, he could call out for her.

He'd barely stood up when a hand rested on his foot.

"What's wrong?" Arthur demanded.

Alfred's brain went blank.

Dude...Arthur had practically thrown himself over Jet's lap to stop him.

"I...uh need to go...uhhhh...do something."

Alfred avoided looking at Jet's skeptical expression.

Arthur used his sleeve to mop at his eyes, "W-what do you need to do, poppet?"

"...uhhhhh…"

Arthur sniffled.

Those red rimmed bloodshot eyes made him feel hella guilty.

Think of something. THINK of something. Dammit brain work!

It was no use; his mouth just had to go for it with or without support from the cranial headquarters.

"I's gonna...um...go that thing...where."

Kudos points for trying...

Arthur's hand carefully moved from his foot and reached up for Alfred's hand. He began to slowly tug him back to the center of the blanket. With his free hand, Arthur blew his nose into his handkerchief.

"C-come here, Sweet."

"Movie!" Alfred yelled. Way louder than was necessary. Hong Kong and Canada openly flinched. But...thank you brain! Better late than never.

Arthur blinked.

"That's-that's it!" Alfred gushed-feeling inspiration. "There was-upstairs-I saw-I'll be back!"

He pulled free and raced away.

Jumping steps and ignoring the twinges of soreness it spread through his body.

His next challenge was selecting a good title from all the kiddie films while Americat was weaving through his legs.

All part of the plan.

He'd grab a good movie, run by the kitchen for "snacks," grab his galoshes, and sneak out.

"Rest assured, I understand the situation and I will inform him. Thank you. I said thank you and goodbye!" Hawaii slumped against the doorframe.

"Hey Baby," she greeted tiredly and slid her phone in her pocket.

"H-hello...how are you?"

She frowned and moved in, "Don't go all formal on me now."

He fidgeted.

"I…" she began "I'm sorry it got so...tense but...I like that we have it out in the open. We deserve to know...right?"

Alfred frowned, "..."

"Right?" her voice took a hard edge.

"I wanted to give her more time!" He burst. "She's...she's...I know she's... _sick_ right now. She has to get better first. But...she tried so many times to meet up with me, but I never gave her the time of day. I was too...I wouldn't have...she got more and more desperate. And finally she just spiraled."

Hawaii's lips pursed.

Alfred shook his hands in a placating manner, "I'm not saying she didn't make bad decisions but...I don't wanna leave her in a dark place. Disconnected..."

There was one knock and then Rhys entered.

Without preamble, he stated, "Arthur's worrying."

Alfred held his movie choice up for inspection.

"Yes, he likes that one," Rhys answered.

Alfred made to walk past him, but Rhys knelt down and blocked the door.

* * *

Rhys sighed. It was a delicate balancing act-trying to see to both his brother's and his nephew's needs at the same time. Arthur was understandably hurt by Alfred's words, but…

Alfred had suffered under the _belief_ of those words for far longer.

"Alfred, regarding what you said-"

The blond ran a hand through his hair, "I messed up, I know. I'm sorry-"

"No; it's a valid conclusion. Everyone acted entirely different with you...following the wars."

"Hmm," Alfred scuffed an impatient foot.

"That had to be incredibly isolating and...painful."

Alfred shrugged, "I might've lost everybody, but I found me."

Rhys waited.

"It was a good thing," Alfred insisted "I mean, I think...some people go their whole lives without ever really knowing who they are or what they're capable of. I mean yeah it was-"

 _A globe hurled against a wall..._

 _A door closed in his face to the Octagon House..._

 _Head bowed as he talked business-conscious that the patch couldn't hide enough._

 _A harsh laugh from a senior officer as he was turned down from reenlisting._

 _Letters of 'I Love Yous' that no longer rang true...but he liked to keep reading the lie._

 _Huddled under ratty bedcovers as winter wind whistled through the broken windows._

 _He was...all that remained of his life._

 _And in the ashes, determination flared to being._

 _Unbreakable, because it wasn't hope._

 _Weightless, because it wasn't despair._

 _He got dressed and went into town for supplies._

"But I made it. I'm who I am today because of it. And I'm proud of me."

"I'm proud of you too," Rhys murmured.

The boy had revealed the crack in his heart. The reason why all their efforts had so little effect.

That determination (while a brilliant motivator) was set in the wrong direction. It was focused on achievement instead of recovery.

Every tender hurting space was bound up tightly so the journey could continue. That was an essential skill on the battlefield...but they weren't at war anymore.

If they could redirect it...

Alfred stared.

Rhys coughed embarrassedly. He'd spaced out a bit. He coughed again, "It's difficult to tell people things like that. Sometimes...it's difficult to hear."

Alfred shifted guiltily, "Arthur…"

"Everyone has a view of him or herself who they see in the mirror looking back. When we hear that someone sees us in a...very different way...it can be...upsetting."

Alfred hugged the DVD, "We were having a good time…"

"He needed to hear it."

Alfred frowned.

"Whoa now, something else happened?" Hawaii interjected. "What happened? Alfie, what happened?"

Alfred didn't make eye contact with Momilani, "I kinda told him how...after we fought...ya know way back...I...didn't think he...cared about me any...more."

Her brown eyes went wide, "..."

"We had this whole talk about being open!" he snapped. "And we were being open and I was too open, and it just flew out. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought he knew that. I mean, why did HE think we were estranged?!"

"I believe he was under the impression that you were being a rebellious teenager," Rhys asserted.

"He only ever had mean things to say and he didn't write back. And he didn't wanna sit with me at the meetings and-" Alfred choked.

"Oh honey," She pet his hair.

Rhys frowned. Arthur ignored his letters? That was more than odd. If Arthur maintained correspondence with Francis through years of conflict, rivalry, and hate…

"He didn't write you back?" Rhys repeated-making sure he heard that right.

"NO!" Alfred pushed Momilani's hand away, "I stopped after 1812. I can take a hint. And then...whenever he did something nice it was to show off how rich he was! Or to show me all the people who wanted to share a part in his richness!"

Rhys nodded. Now that sounded like him. Arthur had a penchant for showing off. Honestly, all three of his brothers did.

The boy rubbed at his eyes bitterly.

It wasn't always arrogance though.

"Arthur tried very hard to master chemistry," Rhys replied. "And Physics. Wrote out compounds and masses and equations. Copied over excerpts from textbooks. Had lunchdates with...odd men and women as they puzzled through what made an element an element. When that didn't work, he tried to learn all there was to know about trains. He must've been spent hours talking to the best and brightest engineers in the field. But he didn't have a mind for it. Didn't really like it. It used to puzzle me. Why he'd spend so much time and money to keep them near…" And now Rhys just thought himself an idiot for not realizing sooner. "You were a moth to flame when it came to Science."

"What...are you saying?"

Rhys raised an eyebrow, "You think it was a coincidence all those geniuses were here whenever you visited?"

"..."

"He knew you couldn't pass up those opportunities. You'd come to meet with them. And he just wanted to see you."

"Just to see…me?" The child replied doubtfully.

"Just to see you."

Alfred planted his feet and got angry, "Well why didn't he just say so!? Why didn't he just-"

"You should ask him. Just not tonight," Rhys suggested as he very gently guided the boy out of the room and toward the stairs.

He didn't think his brother could handle it.

The surge of emotion Arthur underwent...and Rhys being seated so near him when it happened...

It was like being electrocuted with heartache blended with overwhelming failure.

Yes.

It would be difficult for Arthur...being called to task for all the pettiest behavior he'd exhibited through the years.

' _Sometimes Father's heart is in his chest…'_

Well, it was definitely there tonight...

While Alfred's words were necessary, the timing was...unfortunate.

Arthur had been so very happy-his aura hummed.

It would be difficult to salvage the evening.

They were passing the entryway when-

"Alfie!"

The boy blinked, "Oh, hey Ev-"

She threw her arms around the child, "AlfieAlfieAlfie-I've been so worried! Are ya okay? Well that's a stupid ques-are ya hurt? Where's Artie? Is he alright? My God, I can only imagine-"

"He's-"

She picked him up, "I'm so glad you're back."

"Your mascara's running," Alfred observed.

"Ha, like I care about that, ya silly thing," She sniffled. "Now, you're alright? You're sure? You know street's can be very dangerous. I tell Emma every time we-"

"Grym tricked me to cross the street at a bad time."

The woman went quiet and then, "...Bastard. That's-that's why-Urgh-I'll kill him-I-I'll rip his head off-"

Rhys nodded approvingly. He'd inform her later that Alistair was already working to that end.

Momilani descended the staircase then with Americat in her arms, "This cat keeps gaining weight. We're gonna have to put him on a diet or something. Hi, I'm Momilani. Don't think we've met hon."

"She's Hawaii," Alfred piped up.

"Aloooo-ha!"

"Gawd, I've always wanted to go there! The luaus with the men in those little grass skirts and the flame batons-"

"And the spa treatments! Aalona. He's a massage god, I swear. You say the word, I'll set you up. Plus, he's pretty fun to look at, if you know what I-"

Rhys cleared his throat, "Arthur's waiting for us in the Drawing Room."

"Lead on then," the human quipped.

He did.

The Welshman frowned as he caught sight of Barbados pacing.

"Olivia?"

Relief dawned on her face, "There you are. You took too long. _He's_ getting agitated."

Alfred waved the DVD.

She took it curiously and then sighed, "The price we must pay...going to give everyone a bout of narcolepsy."

"He...he DOES like it right?" Alfred asked "I mean, I just grabbed it cuz-cuz _Unicorn_ 's in the title."

Her lips twitched in what could've been a smile except she hesitated, "Alfred, have you...seen this movie?"

"No, but he likes it, right?"

She stared at him.

Alfred frowned, "Look, I-I'm...my mouth's what got us into this and my brain's a static T.V. screen right now-I don't have a good story to tell, but..but if he likes this movie, I can shut up and watch it. I can do that. I can zombie through it. I've survived Hawaii's chick flick marathons-"

"It's when he drools while he's awake, that I change it over to something with explosions-"

"It's sad," Barbados told him quietly.

Blue eyes were horrified, "Oh my god, the unicorn dies."

"No!"

"Then we're putting it on!"

"Olivia," Rhys addressed softly, "If you'd be so kind."

She nodded distractedly and reentered the room.

They followed and found the girl was right.

Arthur's bloodshot eyes were fixated on the hall. He straightened up and smiled as Alfred came into view.

Rhys turned to Eva, "You'd best take him to Arthur now."

Agitated was a...polite way to label it.

His youngest brother was downright twitchy.

"We were just saying hello," Eva explained. "Traffic was terrible-"

Arthur nodded dismissively and reached unabashedly for his child.

"Alright then," Eva wisely relinquished him without a fuss. "Good to see you too."

England cradled the younger nation, "Where did you go Darlingheart?"

"I got you a movie."

"You did? How thoughtful," he nuzzled the child.

"Rhys and Olivia said you like it. She's putting it on for us."

"Thank you Livvie dear."

Alfred threatened the fragility of the moment by squirming, "Here, lemme go get us some snacks and stuff."

Arthur laughed rather breathlessly as his embrace tightened, "Nononono. You'll spoil your appetite. It's nearly dinnertime."

"Oh."

* * *

Arthur laid back onto a pillow. The fire was getting low, they'd need more timber soon. He'd send Reilley. The git was over in the corner trying to convince Eva to forego a vacation in Maui for Dublin.

Arthur reached over to where Jake was kipping and tousled the lad's hair. The boy sighed contentedly and Arthur smiled.

Arthur noticed Wy shivering and pulled the blanket, that she'd kicked off earlier, more securely over her.

Following his...breakdown...dinner had been changed to a more informal affair of soup and bread.

 _Fear had spiked through his heart as he watched Alfred fill a spoon and then empty it back into the bowl._

" _Do you want something different? What do you want? What will you eat?"_

 _The child stared at him._

" _Is it too hot? Not to your taste?"_

" _..."_

 _He was panicking; images of a thin, barefoot Roanoke were flashing through his brain._

" _You hardly touched your meal at lunch. You_ _ **must**_ _be famished."_

 _A slim teenager was sitting at a distant corner of the table-newly sovereign yet several years out of fashion with a waistcoat that went down to his thighs and a jacket whose elbows were wearing out._

" _..."_

 _A young man with a tattered suitcase at his door in the dead of night. 1931._

 _Arthur answered the door tired, angry, bitter, lonely, and unforgivably stupid:_

" _I suppose you need a place to sleep, eh?_

 _No fancy hotels for you_ _ **now**_ _."_

 _He received laughter, several folders with business paperwork, and an absurdly cheery wave goodbye._

 _Arthur had been in his house robe and was already embarrassed to have answered his door in such a state-chasing after the boy would've been humiliating._

 _Idiot._

 _It was just cold night air._

 _You idiot._

 _Why give a damn what the neighbors would think?_

 _You sodding idiot._

" _ **I just thought you didn't love me anymore..."**_

" _Here, you want to try what Daddy has?"_

 _Arthur had desperately ripped a piece of bread and dipped it, "Here, Sweet. Try that."_

 _Alfred rather meekly accepted it and took a nibble._

" _That's oxtail soup. You like it?"_

" _S'good."_

 _That was all he needed to hear._

 _He swapped bowls._

" _You don't have to-"_

" _Now you eat up and regain your strength!"_

He was so fragile.

He seemed so terribly fragile.

What weight he'd gained under Arthur's nurturing, was falling back off due to the accident and some ennui that had settled over the child.

His eyes were huge in his pale little face.

It made Arthur awfully nervous.

The idea of his child withering away from neglect whilst in his father's care was simply unbearable.

Deep breaths Arthur ol' sport. Deep breaths.

Alfred was currently watching the telly in open mouthed interest as the _The Last Unicorn_ reached its climax.

Earlier the boy had been aggravated that his brothers were talking through the overture and loudly demanded captions.

He'd only quieted down when Arthur began reciting the lines for him.

Following dinner, quite a few of the children had nodded off-having already seen the movie quite a few times.

Hong Kong was reading a book of Chinese proverbs which meant he was missing China. Arthur tried not to feel a guilty twinge at that.

He always told himself. One day. _**One**_ day. He'd invite their other guardians for Christmas or the Ball and-he blinked.

Alfred was sitting near him-criss cross applesauce and giving him a good view of a dirtied sock. The thing already had a hole opening on the ball of his foot.

So soon?

The boy did pivot and spin quite a bit when he moved but-

He blinked.

His trainers were gone…

Trainers, galoshes, and dress shoes.

The child had remarked at some point that he'd forgotten the militaristic boots that he'd worn to his "Evaluation."

Arthur had been glad for that until...

The trainers were gone now.

He'd kicked off the galoshes somewhere.

He gasped, damnation!

He'd forgotten to give Alfred his nice new boots! They'd arrived a while back following their photo session. He'd instructed Mr. Gray to put them in the bottom dresser drawer upstairs and forgotten.

Arthur poked the foot through the little hole furious at himself for not noticing sooner.

Alfred laughed and then presented the other foot which had a hole twice the size!

Neglected…

It happened that quickly...

Damnation…

Arthur texted Eva with the instruction to fetch Alfred a pair of socks. Mr. Gray could show her their room.

Alfred crawled over to him.

" _That's_ a favorite of yours? It was sad," Alfred murmured as the credits rolled. "Wistful."

He felt a soft glow of pleasure at the child's word choice.

Arthur plucked the remote from a sleeping Sealand and changed the TV over to regular programming.

He was on the hunt for "feel good" cartoons.

Alfred frowned, "She thanked him for learning regret."

"Yes."

"I mean what the heck? I don't get it."

Arthur rested his free hand on the child's foot-petting it soothingly.

"She knew love."

"..." Alfred crossed his arms, "I still don't get it."

"Being human opened her to all sorts of feelings she couldn't have experienced otherwise. She learnt and felt love. But it left her vulnerable to regret. Remember at the start, _'You can find the others if you are brave._ ' And that's how she saved them too."

He didn't blame the child one bit for having difficulty with it; it was a grown up idea wrapped in childish animation. He'd thought that even when he'd read the book.

"...and this is one of your favorites?" Alfred asked with a raised brow.

Arthur was thankful to find _Dumbo_ just starting on a Disney station. Alfred gave a soft cheer and laid back. He wriggled and asked (without asking) for Arthur to share some pillow..

Arthur obliged and resigned himself to watching the film with mild interest. He'd only seen it once or twice.

Several minutes in and he remembered why he didn't own this one.

God it was every parent's nightmare! Physically separated from your child while a cruel world sees fit to abuse him, mock him, make him a clown...

"And you think _this_ is a happy movie?" Arthur muttered as the 'Baby Mine' sequence threatened to gut him.

Alfred turned to him in surprise, "O' course it's happy. It's the best revenge story ever! Better than Dumas's _Count of Monte Cristo,_ even!"

"...wot?" Were they watching the same film here? And he'd pay him to repeat that to Francis.

Alfred smiled-blue eyes glittering, "Everything that made him such an unwanted weirdo was exactly what made him _**great**_. And everybody gets to see it finally. And he lives _**Happily. Ever. After**_! With his mommy and Timothy!"

He'd never been more grateful for someone to dangle a pair of socks in his face.

"Thank you Eva."

Otherwise, he'd have probably started crying again.

* * *

Alfred yawned and blinked against gray morning light.

He looked up to see Momilani smiling down at him.

She must've hopscotched through the sleeping bodies to tap his shoulder. Not an easy task.

They'd ended up camping out in the Drawing Room since it made Arthur happy to have everyone in one place...kinda like a rat nest.

"Honey, we've gotta go if we're gonna catch our flight."

"Oh...I forgot…" Alfred mumbled rubbing the sleep from his eyes and feeling disappointed that he hadn't got to really enjoy them being here. "Sorry."

She cupped his face gently, "Baby, we're just glad you're doing better."

"Huh?" He became aware that Arthur's arm was draped over him when it tightened.

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going for it," she smiled.

He stared.

"Trying new things. Repairing old things. You're not letting opportunities pass you by. I'm just _so_ glad. You work so hard. I want you to be happy, baby. You deserve it."

She bended awkwardly to give him a kiss, "So have fun at that ball Cinderfella."

When she made it back across the room, she elbowed Alaska to say goodbye.

The man looked down at him solemnly, "Be careful."

Alfred gulped.

It was like he was staring into his soul and knew before even he did that he was up to something.

Alfred waved until they disappeared into the darkness of the hall and remained sitting up even after the front door opened and closed.

Until Arthur grumbled and the arm began tugging at Alfred.

"Get you in. Lettin' a draft…"

Alfred sighed and settled in-receiving a kiss that nearly poked him in eye and a drowsy, "I love you, my little...darlingheart."

Yup, he had a feeling he was gonna be blasted with those left and right for the next few weeks.

He could see it now. He'd be asking the old man to pass the ketchup and receive it along with a solemn, "I love you. Acknowledge it."

Several hours later and another batch of visitors were moving out.

Tex didn't seem to have any of Alfred's emotional hang ups though.

He was bouncing around singing Hallelujah as Spain, Mexico, and Romano packed up.

"Vacation my ass. Stupid tomato bastard dragging me into this soap opera," Romano growled as he rolled his suitcase over the doorjamb.

Mexico shook her head pityingly at England, "You'll realize eventually you got the raw deal when you took _him_ on" pointing her thumb at Texas, who took that moment to start playing an air guitar. She saluted, "¡Buena suerte, Inglaterra!"

Alfred watched from the stairs as Arthur took Antonio aside to tell him something.

The Spaniard stiffened and then turned, "Mijo! Is this true!?"

"Probably," Tex shrugged. "I didn't know where the trash can was. They hide them 'round here."

Antonio turned back to Arthur, "I apologize for whatever that is, that you will clean." He whipped back around. "No, mijo. That is not-you die and no one takes care of you? Did we not have the conversation where we agreed that you stay in touch with me? And you tell me when you are in trouble?"

"You're volunteering for morgue duty?"

"Si. I'm glad we have reached an accord. Stuart will help us set it up."

"I-I didn't. How can we come to an accord when I didn't-"

"Come wish Papi safe travels!" Antonio spread his arms for a hug.

Texas dragged his feet, "Tch...You're gonna kiss me, ain't cha?"

"It can just be Papi or it can be the whole group."

Tex shot across the room, "Te quiero, Papi."

"Awww, mi pequeño cactus."

* * *

Alfred was more than a little irked when he found a Post-It note left by Hawaii on the top of his suitcase in the upstairs bedroom.

He only noticed it because Arthur was determined to move them back up there. Probably cuz he ripped up that nice bedcover while he was having a hissyfit.

She'd used text-speak because her handwriting was so bubbly and large that she'd need several notes if she wrote it all out.

 _Hey Bb,_

 _BTW, govt called last nite._

 _Want u 2 check n._

 _Love u,_

 _Momi XOXO_

Last night?! And she didn't tell him immediately?!

Worse, stupid, irresponsible America had flat out forgot!

Yeah, it had been Christmas and yeah, Arthur was kinda...eh...and his fairy present was murdered by Mexico…

Guess she was still trying to get even for the Battle of Mexico City. But she shouldn't have directed her snipers to keep aiming at Tex even when it was clear she was gonna lose. That just...that really pissed America off.

He rubbed his forehead. It really threw him for a loop.

He forgot! He FORGOT! How could he forget one of his own procedures?

That was just embarrassing!

That made him launch Operation: Kick-In-The-Pants.

He'd had to sneak into Rhys's room for his Emergency Ziploc containing his backup cell phone.

Had to dodge Reilley in the library as he pocketed a Bible to swear on. Cuz tradition was tradition even if the suits couldn't see him.

He'd had to give Mr. Gray the slip when he went for his galoshes.

He'd had to blatantly hide from Arthur and Eva and ignore them as they went around calling his name.

He had to scale the roof really carefully cuz it was damp and slippery and galoshes sucked big time when it came to this sort of stuff.

He spent the next two hours near the weathervane answering "Yes" and "No" and rattling out number sequences until the bigwigs were satisfied and he was back in business as the bonafide Head Honcho of his nation's personifications.

He blinked as he noticed the weathervane was no longer making the usual metallic clings of changing wind directions.

There was a hard clang every now and then.

He glanced over and saw-

A small bronze telescope. Like the ones Arthur collected, but was reluctant to let him mess with.

He untied it and slid it out to its full length.

There was a slip of parchment wrapped around the middle section.

Scrawled across the top was: _Come Play_

And then in formal looping script:

 _you are cordially invited to Be his highness' royal guEst_

 _to attend Winter court in the unseelie kingdom._

 _Allow us to make amends for that RegrEttable day._

 _By staRlight fEasting and gift giviNg_

 _let us make tHINgs right._

 _SEND us answer by word or note_

 _that we Can AccommoDatE YouR Needs._

There was a fancy stamp at the bottom of a crown with a wintry tree growing through it.

Faint, stilted music box chimes began to play.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and used the telescope to pinpoint where it was emanating from.

There.

His breath left in a whoosh.

His ruined carousel-patched back together and beside it...mushrooms?

His stomach flopped remembering Arthur's warning from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Alfred used his vantage point on the top of the house to look around. At the edge of the woods. At the far end of the garden. Clumped by the corner of a dead bush.

Scattered here and there…almost random...except…

Alfred's eyes widened...he was high enough up...high enough up he could see...

Elfer-

Elfer-ring-wart? No...wort.

Elferingewort.

The whole estate was ringed.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	61. Chapter 61

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Lord of the Rings. Or Middlemarch. Or Sir Gawain, etc.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Trinity Test. Agent ...I'm gonna say there's feels in this one. Yup. Beware.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! They've kept me pumped! And now I have to worry about school projects. XD In the meantime, I hope you enjoy!

 **Chapter 61: Is It Contagious?**

* * *

Alfred scratched behind his ear, "So yeah, Dad said it let them create portals and bewitch people and stuff. Sooo it kinda explains why they're still able to mess with us. We're gonna have to come up with something."

"Jesus," Tex adjusted his hat. "Are there any other updates ya wanna give me?"

Alfred blinked and thought about it, "Oh! You didn't come to my emergency family meeting. Ya know...actually...no one from Team U.S.A.-"

"It was rugby, Al. I can't explain it."

"Well, Grym tricked me into jaywalking to my death and we found out I've got a hex."

That triggered the responses of "Son of a bitch" and "Ew, is it contagious?"

"NO!" Alfred blurted self-consciously and then shrugged, "...maybe."

"Aw well, if it was, I probably already got it. Or I'm immune. What's the big plan, Boss Man?"

Alfred clacked his galoshes together to make them squeak, "Umm...well, Arthur's kinda...out of commission right now physically and...mentally. Rhys and Reilley are trying to pull things together for the ball. We could technically call Alaska and Hawaii back but...Alaska doesn't really like taking orders and Hawaii isn't much of a sprinter. Plus, if they're in it then the U.K. will wanna be involved and the Commonwealth's here. And they're all goody two shoes so they'll be drafted in and...well...that's a lot of cooks in the kitchen."

"Okie dokie, you and me partner!"

"Yup, that's the plan. The tough part is, we gotta gather supplies without being weird. So I'm thinking that we play 'Zombie Apocalypse' while we go through the house. "

Tex shook his head, "God, you're brilliant."

Alfred grinned, "Alright, so there's an armory around here somewhere. You try and find out what they've got. Cuz lately nobody likes seeing me walk around with scissors. So they'd freak if they saw me with a sword. Anyhow, they borrowed a whole bunch of stuff from me that I didn't get back. So it's only fair."

"I'm on it."

"I'll head to the kitchen!" Alfred volunteered,

It was there that Mr. Gray ratted Alfred out, calmly dialing a number and saying "Yes sir. Kitchen, sir."

Arthur arrived soon after with a deep scowl, "I've been searching for you all morning, you rascal. Where have you been?"

Alfred smiled as goodnaturedly as possible, "Oh! Hey Daddy. Tex and I are playing Zombie Apocalypse. I gotta borrow a good small pan, so I can be like Samwise Gamgee and-"

"You missed breakfast," Arthur removed the skillet in Alfred's hand and sent the cook an apologetic look. She waved him off.

"I'm not hungry."

He wasn't; he was full of that fluttery feeling he got before battle. After his first victory he'd be able to feast but-

"...Nonsense, you need to eat something. We've a late lunch scheduled for today and I don't want you feeling faint."

"I said I'm not-"

"You're wasting away!"

Alfred blinked, "Geez. One minute everybody's ragging on me about obesity rates in America and now-"

He took a scone to the face.

Aoife winked and walked back to the counter.

Yeah, she was probably helping him out by interrupting. At least, the scone was way tastier than Arthur's standard fare.

Arthur frowned at her, "You didn't give him jam or cream."

Geez…

It was super embarrassing be settled down at the long dining table with hot cocoa, scones that were "properly served," and fresh fruit.

Arthur sat beside him with a cup of tea and a newspaper.

He occasionally reached for a scone from the heavily stacked platter, placed another scone on Alfred's plate, or refilled Alfred's mug.

And whenever green eyes glanced over the edge of the paper, caught his, and crinkled...Alfred felt his insides warm happily.

The nervous feeling gave way and the hungry feeling began.

"Well, I'm just doing all the work," Tex teased as he crashed the scene. He was about to grab one of the scones off Alfred's plate when a wild green eye rested on him.

Daring him to do it.

"Eh…"

Arthur looked pointedly at the platter.

"O-okay then, I'll...take one...from this plate here."

* * *

Arthur was stretched out on the couch idly rereading _Middlemarch_ for the hundredth time or more while keeping an eye on Wy and Sealand as they romped around with Eva.

Rhys was off making sure all the tedious details for tomorrow's ball were taken. Reilley was with the older children fielding ideas for how the ballroom ought to be decorated. Arthur would check in with them in an hour or so and make sure Reilley wasn't being sour. Alistair texted that he was still on the hunt and heading into a deadzone...but to a pick a good pike in the meanwhile.

It was ungentlemanly to feel satisfaction at that...and yet...

His gaze drifted upwards.

Alfred was taking a rest upstairs. He'd eagerly accepted a foot massage and passed out halfway through.

Arthur had tucked him in carefully among his hoard of stuffed animals and drawn the blinds so he wouldn't be disturbed by grey light filtering in.

And who knew what Texas was up to. The lad was odd; England blamed Spain's influence.

"Stop hogging it!" Wy demanded.

"You had it waaay longer than me!"

Arthur frowned and they immediately quieted.

A stern look now and then kept their voices from getting overloud. Though Eva required several beats more before she acquiesced.

He turned the page and heard a straining sound.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Alfred climbing over the back of the sofa with a book tucked under his arm.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"Hi," the boy panted. "I was thinking we could-hey... _ **hey,**_ they're playing with _**my**_ stuff!"

"Alfred-"

"You break it, you buy it," he muttered darkly.

"Alfred, be charitable. You aren't playing with them now, and you didn't put them away."

"Socialists," Alfred muttered.

"Do make yourself comfortable," Arthur replied as the boy slid in behind him.

"I shall," Alfred replied snootily making himself all elbows as he settled in.

Arthur shook his head and was trying to find his place when Alfred reached over him and tried to slide his book over Arthur's.

"Alfred-"

"Read to me?"

"Alfred, I'm already reading."

"Read to me, please! Just a few pages?" Alfred whined. "And then you can go back. Please?"

"Or you can wait a few pages and then we'll see."

"Pleeeease?"

Don't give in. Arthur, don't you dare give in. If you give in, he'll know he has you wrapped around his finger.

" _ **I just thought you didn't love me anymore..."**_

When Arthur saw it was _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_...how could he possibly refuse?

Besides, Alfred was right, he only lasted a few pages.

When the child leaned more heavily against him, he hastily flipped to the back of the book and read off the note he'd written to his child.

Alfred blinked owlishly as his eyelids drooped, "That's...really nice…" He traced his fingers clumsily over the words and pet them gently, "I like that...you mean it?"

There was something frightfully fragile in the tone as the child turned to look at him.

"Every word," Arthur replied solemnly.

Alfred smiled and chuckled, "So serious."

Arthur's chest puffed a little annoyed to hear Alfred make light of his sincerity and the depth of his tender feelings.

He meant those words. He _meant_ them!

A small hand touched his face.

Alfred smiled sleepily, "There's your hero-face...I knew you still had it."

* * *

Rhys paused mid stride and watched his brother and nephew; such a happy domestic scene, it made him nostalgic.

 _Arthur flushed._

 _And the longer Rhys stared, the redder his brother got._

" _Get thee up," the toddler cheered, kicking his heels lightly against Arthur's sides. Chubby little hands were holding Arthur's loose linen shirt._

" _Well, His Highness is waiting for you," Rhys repeated._

" _Pwetty, pwetty pony," America sang._

 _Rhys seized the child by the waist and lifted him off, "Regrettably, the pretty pony must prance before the Court."_

 _Alfred's cheeks puffed in displeasure._

" _Daddy!" He reached his arms and wiggled his fingers._

 _Arthur kissed the little hands, "I'm sorry Sweetling. I fear it's true. Daddy must go to them."_

 _His brother slipped into his vest and coat._

" _Daaaaddy-" he wrested himself free from Rhys's grip._

" _I know my love," Arthur quipped as he tied a linen collar to his neck and smoothed his hair as best he could._

 _He hastily pulled his boots on._

 _Alfred flung himself at Arthur's legs._

" _Now, now pet. Uncle Rhys will take you to Miss Mary. Won't you? Now be my good sweet boy, and give Daddy a farewell kiss for luck."_

 _Alfred did and with that Arthur departed._

 _The child had spent several beats staring hard at the door and when his guardian did not reappear-wailed so loudly, Rhys didn't need to bother with looking for Miss Mary._

 _She rushed right in._

 _The child had been nigh inconsolable. Not responding to any of the soothing techniques he'd employed for his brothers when they were small._

 _Still, Rhys had been perversely pleased that Mary hadn't any more luck than he and had remarked that their salvation would come when the child screamed himself hoarse._

 _Rhys had privately agreed until inspiration struck and he'd had the sense to fetch his harp._

 _The child was so taken with the instrument and to listening to Rhys play, that when Arthur finally managed to break himself away, the child was no longer interested in his English pony._

 _He wanted to sit in Rhys's lap and pluck at the harp's strings with curious fingers._

 _For the next two days, Rhys's harp was mysteriously 'misplaced' in all manner of odd spots._

 _When he finally caught a Brownie in the act of depositing it in the armory, he'd thought it suiting. Arthur recognized a weapon alright._

 _He left it there._

 _And when Alfred ordered him to "Pway the Pwettiness," he responded that nothing would make him happier, but that his harp had been stolen by a selfish troll._

 _The bairn was then determined to quest for it._

 _Arthur came back from a meeting with Charles II to find a horribly distraught Alfred who'd 'failed' in his mission._

 _Not long after, Rhys received a knock on his bedroom door. His harp was left in the middle of the hall._

 _Still, he'd felt a little sorry watching Arthur wilt at being left out and struck up a tune Gee, Geffyl Bach which rekindled Alfred's interest in his prize pony._

He looked down at the large black Grammarie book in his arms. It was a shame he had to interrupt, but Alistair was right. The hag's book was worth its weight in gold.

Arthur blinked as he approached-frowning at the spellbook.

Rhys held it before him, "Scotland recovered this from the hag that was slain."

"Get it away. Keep it in your room. I'll move it somewhere secure later. I don't want it where the children can get at-"

"Arthur, read. Alistair bookmarked it for us."

Arthur frowned for several beats.

"Fine. Give me a moment," He carefully untangled Alfred-shushing him gently when the child fussed. Arthur covered him with a blanket and assured that he'd be back soon.

His brother followed him haltingly. He'd foregone his crutches in favor of his cane.

It was clear from his expression, that he was annoyed to be moved at all.

"Going to lecture me?" Arthur asked-noting their surroundings.

"It _**is**_ Lecture Leviathan," Rhys quipped as he turned the book to the appropriate page.

There were several scrawls at the top.

 _Harbitas. Ripere._ _Hærfes_ t. All with a line crossing through them. And then _Harvester._

"It's interesting," Rhys remarked. "To see that they, too, have to keep up with the times. It's fascinating how language changes..."

Arthur murmured the passage aloud:

" _Yif ge art wise,_

 _ge wollen be knowen_

 _Hey is reapen_

 _hwaet ge is sowen_

 _Hand be stille_

 _Yif aimen to striken..."_

Arthur frowned, the next part was smudged out and then a newer passage followed:

" _Fill the scales_

 _As you deem right._

 _With gift or grief,_

 _He'll Bloom or Blight."_

Rhys nodded.

"Flowers. Flowers. Flowers. Flowers. All over the page," Arthur murmured passing a hand over them.

Rhys nodded, "They make a border one side...benevolent...the other...well..."

What looked like Devil's snare was...eating peasants...knights...and kings...

And at the bottom of the page, written through the vines, was the latin word TRIBUTUM in bold lettering.

"There are skulls even in the center of the flowers on your 'benevolent' side," Arthur pointed out.

Rhys blinked. So there were.

"The hag said he was blighting that day," Arthur recalled.

"Fill the scales…"

"Worshipper of the Scales of Reciprocity," Arthur read from a note in the margin. "She said something about that too."

"Sooo….you pay tribute to the harvester to...bloom? To...avoid blight?" a high voice questioned.

"Gah Mint!" Arthur gasped. "Trying to scare me."

She ignored him and flew close to the page.

"Fill the scales," she murmured "Fill the scales...with gifts?"

"Or grief...gifts OR grief," Rhys repeated. "Scalesssss. Multiple?"

Arthur began nodding first slowly and then more vigorously, "There's likely two! One for Gifts and one for Grief."

"Tributum…" they all murmured.

Arthur paled.

"You have to pay him tribute?" Mint said. "Geez, no wonder that kid makes you go broke."

"At Thanksgiving….at Thanksgiving he said: ' _we give thanks for all the gifts given-all are great ...large or small.'_ _**Everything**_ is a gift," the Briton murmured uneasily.

"Well, my brain's the size of an acorn. I don't get it. Explain it to me."

Rhys restrained a wince...because in that context…

Perhaps that was the reason Alfred was having such trouble regarding his relationship with Osha.

In the view of his magic, everything...even cruelty was still...valuable...

"Hellooo? Fine. I'll just move on to the next part. Reciprocity. That's weird. Isn't that usually a water trait? Or a mirror thing? I'm not used to seeing that paired with a Gardener type," Mint frowned. "How would they reflect?"

"What he reaps...is what you sow…" Arthur mused.

Rhys thought back to that November dinner and murmured, " _We hope that what we gather is good and plenty for all._ "

Arthur began nodding, "Hope. Hope is the keyword. Because he doesn't just gather what is _good_."

"There's skulls all over the page, Alby. That's not a stylistic thing."

Green eyes were reading deep between the lines of the page, "He harvests...what you give. Tributum. The gifts...the gifts are seeds that he plants and he reaps them...and…you have a harvest…when the scales...are full? Or when one scale is full? One scale is filled and it tips..."

Green and hazel eyes met, "When the scales tip…"

"Bloom or Blight," Rhys finished.

"But how does he reflect?" Mint insisted.

"He doesn't," Rhys muttered as he shut the book. "He magnifies."

"What?"

"One seed can flower into many fruits. You give and then you get...tenfold," Arthur nodded-looking rather green.

"Arthur?"

His brother was gripping his cane very tightly.

"Arthur?"

"Greedy beasts," Arthur replied darkly. "It isn't interest. It's greed. The UnSeelies they...they want to use him. As a bread basket, as a treasure trove...as a weapon...I won't allow it!"

Rhys was taken aback.

Usually, Arthur prided himself on how well he took bad news. Information was usually a precious commodity no matter how distressing its details.

"Gift of Violence, Gift of Famine, Gift of Pestilence...Gift of Loneliness..." Arthur took a shaky breath. "I think he's received the _**Gift**_ of Exploitation quite enough."

* * *

Alfred twisted his hands in his sleeves.

Rather than follow the gameplan he set that morning, he ended up spending most of the day pestering Arthur for attention.

He kept telling himself to soak it up. All the affection he could get. Like a sponge. That way when Arthur got angry...which he probably would..since technically Alfred was holding out on him...he could...he could just...

"You getting cold feet?" Texas asked as he lined up water bottles.

Alfred bit his lip and ran his hands through his hair, "I feel guilty, Bro."

Arthur was oblivious. Eva seemed a little hurt that he kept coming up with reasons he needed to be somewhere else. Mint and Rhys wanted to tell him something. Reilley was ticked at him. And Texas was calmly waiting for him to figure out what the heck he was doing.

"Dad's been such a good sport with me and we both said we were gonna be more open with each other."

Texas shrugged, "Kay, then tell him."

"It'll ruin the ball! And who knows? Maybe if we leave early, we can-can fix everything and come back before the party's over and I'll have defeated the UnSeelie threat, rescued Arthur's wand, aaaand proven myself an awesome magic practitioner!"

"Yeeeeah, that's the best-case scenario...with our luck lately...I don't think that one's gonna happen, little brother."

Alfred frowned, "Maybe...maybe...I should test the waters. See if Arthur would consider canceling the party?"

"Why not? Worst he can say is no. And then we'll be on our way."

Alfred's ensuing search for his old man ended at his study.

He nervously knocked on the great oak door.

"Yes? Come in."

He hurried inside.

Arthur looked up from paperwork on his desk, his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

For a moment they just stared at one another.

He hadn't known the old man owned a pair of glasses. It was weird how they did the same thing for Arthur that they'd done for Alfred...they made him look older.

Only where older meant "more sophisticated" in Alfred's case...older meant "tired" and well, _older_ , for Arthur.

Arthur's hand twitched like he wanted to snatch them off, but he didn't want to seem self-conscious.

Alfred shuffled forward.

The hand twitched again and then deliberately gripped the chair arm.

Something about that...just...hurt him somewhere deep. He didn't even know why.

Alfred rested his head against that arm.

"Um c-can I ask you a question?"

Arthur's free hand settled itself on top of his head, "Certainly."

"H-hypothetically speaking?"

Amusement warmed Arthur's tone, "Very well, let's hear this hypothetical and very unrelated-to-our-circumstances-situation."

"..."

Gentle fingers pet his hair, "Go on, love."

"W-would you consider cancelling the ball?"

Arthur's hand stilled, "Wot?"

"Or-or rescheduling it. I mean do you-do you _**have**_ to have it?" Alfred looked up.

The hand moved away, "I look forward to it every year and many are travelling great distances to visit with us."

"Oh…"

Arthur lifted Alfred onto his lap. He pulled one of the papers near, "You see this? It's a count of glassware. Flutes. Goblets. Glasses. Rhys usually orders the staff to set out too many because he's paranoid. I check it over."

"That's a lot of glasses...there's gonna be a lot of people...huh?"

"Yes, we'll have quite a full house."

"Oh…"

Arthur adjusted his spectacles, "We'll all have a good time, you'll see."

Nervousness seeped in, so canceling wasn't an option.

"There will be dancing and desserts. Fine music. Good food."

Alfred sighed unhappily.

Arthur leaned close, "And if anyone...anyone at all...says or does anything even the least bit unkindly to you. You tell me. Immediately. No matter where I am or what I'm doing."

Alfred turned to him, startled by the harsh tone and the severe expression.

"This is your home. It always has been. It always will be."

Alfred fidgeted, "...It's just kinda weird stepping in when...so much time has passed...I mean...I can't blame anybody for being all ' _One of these things is not like the others it's_ -"

"You're family. Here. There. Then. Now. Always."

Alfred exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

He was then given a gentle squeeze and told in a quiet, sincere voice, "I shall always love you and want you with me. You're a piece of my heart and my happiness is never complete without you."

* * *

Canada stared down at his phone. France was calling him. Again.

He turned it to silent and slid it in his pocket.

Merde. He just...didn't know what to say.

His thoughts were like a mess of buzzing mosquitos.

He stared down at his pond-sighing as his reflection rippled from a breeze.

His brother seemed so normal at lunch. He always did. He laughed and joked and grinned his way through centuries. Mathieu would've never guessed:

" _I just thought you didn't love me anymore._ "

Overhearing that…

Stated so calmly...so matter of fact...like Alfred was commenting on the latest discovery of the Hubble telescope.

How did one enter any kind of conversation after that?

Naturally, he and Olivia were pretty shocked to hear that admission.

Mathieu knew how it felt to be ignored.

To be unacknowledged...to be underappreciated…to be left out...to be abandoned...

But unloved…

Like love was simply a faucet that turned on and off.

In the past, did his brother just assume that any kindness Arthur paid him was the result of a leak?

Arthur's face following that announcement...

It would've been cruel to corner Arthur with his own insecurities following that.

It was starting to seem like he'd never find the right opportunity to voice his feelings. Still, his jealousy didn't feel as potent now. It still writhed in his gut, but it was diluting into something else.

If Alfred had been largely oblivious (or worse...in denial) of all of Arthur's blatantly affectionate actions through the years...no wonder the Englishman had to go to such lengths to prove himself.

The whole situation was starting to look rather...sad...for everyone involved.

He wanted to talk about it, but he wasn't sure Francis could take hearing how large a role Arthur had in his life as a mentor. And he wasn't sure how to bring up Alfred without sounding as resentful as he felt.

Texas was a closed book when it came to discussing their brother's vulnerabilities.

" _Ain't my business."_

" _But you...did you_ _ **know**_ _?" Mathieu pressed_ _as Alfred complained that their mumbling was making it hard for him to hear the movie._

" _Ain't. My. Business. Or yours," But he'd closed his eyes when he repeated it, which Mathieu took as a 'Yes. I knew.'_

" _But-"_

 _Brown eyes flashed as they snapped open, "All I'll say is: I don't talk behind his back 'bout this sorta stuff and if you're half as smart as you think you are. You won't neither."_

"Master Alfred, that's quite a lot of pesticide," Mr. Gray observed-a definite note of worry in his voice.

"Look, I just...need it," Alfred insisted as he wheeled out a large plastic container with a spray nozzle. "I've gotta-"

"Alfie," Eva interrupted. "There's lots of chemicals in that-I don't think you ought to-"

"Dude, if I survived Agent Orange and the Trinity Test, I'm sure weedkiller'll won't be the thing that offs me-"

"But why do you need to do it right now?" Eva pestered.

"I just...noticed some...weeds...and I'd like some privacy….I'm a private gardener dude-guy. See? You're making me nervous."

"And you need to take care of them right now? And alone?" Eva replied skeptically.

"Uh...yeah?" Blue eyes flitted guiltily to a bush.

Canada blinked and then determinedly walked straight over to it.

"No! Mattie, don't!"

Canada jogged over to the spot-feet stopping beside unwelcome vegetation, "There's a clump of mushrooms here!"

"Don't step any closer!" Mr. Gray barked. "It's a fairyring! Isn't it, Master Alfred?"

Canada halted and looked back.

Alfred bit his lip and gave a miserable nod.

* * *

Pacing with an injured leg was an exercise in irritation-pivoting with a cast was an almighty pain in the arse.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur demanded-gripping his cane tightly.

Alfred's head was bowed and he didn't reply-fiddling with a music stand instead.

Arthur had pulled him into the music room so their argument wouldn't be wholly public.

"The moment you saw it, you shouldn't have thought: _I'll just rummage through the shed._ You should've gone: _I'll go get Father, he'll know what to do."_

Instead, it was a matter of luck that Mathieu, Mr. Gray, and Eva had found the boy out and spread the news to him and Rhys.

Alfred shrugged a shoulder.

"What did I tell you?!" Arthur continued. "Those are dangerous! I don't want you near them! I told you to tell me if-"

"Sorry, I just-"

"No Alfred, you need to tell me these things-"

The head snapped up with a glare, "I didn't want to ruin your ball! You look forward to it. You said so-"

"So that's why you wanted a 'rescheduling?' You knew _**then**_ and you didn't tell me."

"..."

Arthur took a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Alfred, when you have knowledge that others' safety is compromised, you do me no favors by staying silent. Do you understand me, young man?"

"I'm telling now aren't I?!" Alfred fumbled with something in his pocket.

"Alfred?! That's-"

"It should count! I coulda just gone you know! Old me wouldn't have felt guilty running out on you! Old me wouldn't have stuck around for your stupid snobby party," Alfred stomped a foot. "Or fret over you being happy at it! Old me would've done something about _**this**_ already!"

He shook the note, and Arthur plucked it from him.

To be honest, while he was deeply disappointed with Alfred's actions. There was something strangely soothing about their current argument.

Alfred was...reacting from the start.

Usually, he had to coax the child into sharing his inner feelings. Alfred tended to shield them behind heroic virtues.

But now...

Yes, the child was explosive; angry, confused, frustrated, anxious, afraid...but he was genuine.

Alfred was foot stomping, hand wringing, whining, and...wonderfully present.

They were in the moment together.

And he was quite right. "Old him" would've gone without a word...and Arthur would've been devastated.

Green eyes scanned the piece of parchment. His stomach plummeted, "I want to know _when_ and _how_ you got this."

"I dunno. One minute it was just there."

"Alfred-"

"Midmorning. I was on the roof taking a phone call. And they stuck it to the weathervane."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Good God! He was on the roof?! The vaulted gothic roof!? His mouth went dry. Near the weathervane? At the highest point of the whole goddamned estate!

Arthur choked, "W-what were you doing there!?"

"I told you! I was taking a call! It was private."

Arthur's cane fell to the ground as he set both hands on his son's shoulders. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, "You could've fallen! They could've made you fall!"

"But they didn't-"

"They're nasty brutes!"

Alfred stared at him in startlement, "I thought you liked the fae!"

"Well, I've changed my mind!" he snapped and all but collapsed onto the music room's piano bench.

Murder changed one's opinion profoundly.

"Dad?"

Arthur rested his face in his hands, "When you need to take a private phone call, tell me and I'll let you use my study."

"...kay."

"...could've hurt you...could've fallen…with or without their manipulation..." If he'd discovered his child's broken body on the grounds…

Arthur shuddered.

"I've been on a lot of roofs. Construct-"

Arthur looked up and his glare made the boy fall silent.

"I don't care how many times," Arthur growled. "It doesn't matter. I care about you being in danger. I'll care. Every. Single. Time. And every time a car or a bullet or a beast does you harm my heart _will_ break!"

"..."

"For pity's sake, think of me!" Arthur hissed. "Before you go gallivanting! Before you dash, or climb, or risk yourself! Think of your poor father waiting for you! Worrying that you're late! Feeling the world's ended because you're missing! And if you can't have understanding for my poor old heart, have _**pity**_! I'll take a hero's pity, if I can't have a son's respect!"

* * *

Read & Review Please! :DDD


	62. Chapter 62

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Red Baron. Morgan Le Fey. Rhys steps up. Tex gloats. Arthur agonizes. Alfred grapples with everything. Reilley's a jerk. Alistair's still out there somewhere. And draaaaama increases as the story progresses.

 **AN:** Thank you for your reviews! Still suffering through school workloads and mega-overcast days. It's storming outside and the weather forecast says its gonna last the whole week long. D: Wish me blue skies and some luck, cuz I'm in the dreaded 'Group Project' phase of one class and in another, the writing teacher doesn't accept "genre" stories (No fantasy, no sci-fi, no historical...just realistic...which makes one tear...just the one...roll down). So I'm gonna go ahead and upload this before I hunker down in a study bunker! Hope you enjoy! : D

 **Chapter 62: Let Me In**

* * *

Alfred felt like he was a million miles away.

" _I'll take a hero's pity, if I can't have a son's respect!"_

It echoed and echoed and echoed until there was static in his ears.

He flinched when Arthur turned and abruptly put his head down on the ivory keys of the music room's piano-discordant notes interrupted the static and he heard sobs.

His old man's shoulders were moving up and down as his breath hitched.

"Fa-"

The static intensified.

He was drowning in it.

He raised a hesitant hand towards the older man, but Arthur couldn't see it.

He moved forward.

 _Stop._

He took another step.

 _For his sake...stop…_

He froze.

 _He's tired of you. You've worn him out._

Alfred shook his head.

 _Take pity. Leave._

He forced himself to keep moving and touched his father's elbow-patting it gently.

He pressed his face against the arm. The way his horse Nickel used to nudge him when he was feeling down.

Only instead of smelling tea and wool and water-he got ash.

 _The ships were aglow with flames in the harbor-bobbing ominously before sinking._

He blinked.

 _The bookshelves were catching. The crate he was filling would soon follow._

 _Ember and ash filled his lungs as the timbers groaned and gave way._

 _The fields were alight and ash fell like snow-flying into his hair, his eyelashes, the creases of his coat._

 _Ash turned to snow._

 _Biting at his flesh with a cold numbness that sought to overtake him entirely._

 _Blurring the landscape as it fell relentlessly..._

 _He was losing his way in the whiteout._

 _He reached out blindly, 'F-father!'_

 _ **You have no father.**_

 _His face stung from the slap. Furious emeralds glinted at him...how dare he insult His Grace._

 _He wasn't welcome at the palace. This infested hotel room would have to do. If he stomped his foot, all the cockroaches left their hiding places._

" _No…" He informed the gentleman organizing the event, "You need not reserve any spaces on my account," He smiled as if it could lessen the bad news, "I've no one to invite…"_

 _He stood tall as he was awarded a medal; as a room full of strangers clapped._

It made his eyes burn, Alfred squeezed them shut.

 _Father…_

He thought hard. Back, back, back, back...

 _Back to when he was very, very small. Of being carefully lifted and dried from his bath. His limbs were gently guided into his nightgown. Father cradled him in one arm and delighted in tickling his tummy and kissing his feet._

 _Father..._

 _Holding his weak body as it sagged in exhaustion, "Yes lad, Father's got you."_

 _Carrying him through the woods, swimming with him through the sea, guarding him from...monsters..._

"What have yeh done now, ya idgit?"

He took a hard shove in the shoulder and he nearly lost his balance but someone caught him and picked him up.

His back was patted gently.

"You don't need to fight the hex, Alfred. Not right now, it'll exhaust you. We'll help you break it soon enough."

Did he know them? These disembodied voices?

"S-strawberry?" he questioned the air.

"Yes. It's Uncle Strawberry Welches."

And just like that everything cleared up and he was staring into hazel eyes.

They smiled sympathetically, even if the mouth didn't follow along.

He sunk gratefully into the solid, visible form and noticed over Rhys's shoulder that Arthur had Reilley by the lapels of his coat.

"Don't you _ever_ put your hands on him! I swear if you ever use such violence again I'll-"

"Father!" He reached.

Green eyes flashed his way.

He leaned over Rhys's shoulder to reach with both hands-heart in his mouth-absurdly certain that if Arthur didn't reach back. If he didn't reach back right here, right now...he'd-he'd-he'd feel like-

" _...the world's ended..."_

He wiggled his fingers, "Father…"

Even as that burning freezing agony intensified-his heart fluttered as he was passed into a pair of open, waiting arms.

* * *

Arthur sighed and leaned back into the chair-staring up at the ceiling.

God, he was so tired.

Alfred squirmed from his spot where he was curled up against him.

Absentmindedly, Arthur began to rub the boy's back.

"...I...I wasn't trying to hurt you…" the boy insisted as he plucked at Arthur's sweater.

"Hmm…"

There was a crack in the crown molding.

"I just...I...I AM capable ya know? I've done lots of missions. Lots of em. Against odds worse than this."

Arthur's jaw clenched.

"You're making things so difficult," Alfred grumbled.

"..." Arthur's hands returned to the chair's arms.

"Dammit, that's not what I meant to say I...look I...hey, please look at me?" Tentative fingers brushed against his face

Arthur forced his gaze down to the child's face. Alfred blushed a bit and his hands curled into his shirt sleeves.

Alfred bit his bottom lip nervously, "I...I know you really laid it all out there...I get it...and I...I'd match it if I could but...there's...this…" The child gestured to his chest. "Piece of me...of my...heart that's way down deep. No one can get at it. But that's okay cuz it's safe."

Wearily, Arthur continued looking at the boy.

The child opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, "I...don't you get it? It's safe there. It's safe. But you keep scrabbling at it. You're determined to break in. All the pieces you could take and that's the one you obsess over. The one you can't have. Why do you want it so bad, anyway?!"

Arthur stared grimly, "...Love from the bottom of one's heart is the fullest, most sincere love one can give...or receive."

"..."

" _Of course_ I want it." Like it was even a question.

Alfred released a sound of frustration, "You think you're _entitled_ to it. You've got the gall to step on it. To throw it away and then demand it bac-"

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of!" Arthur snarled. "But I never took your heart for granted. And I _never_ threw it away. You retracted it from me. It's suffering down in the dark place you've forced it into. I would see that heart freed from its captivity. I cherish that heart. I mourn for it...I suffer as _it_ suffers...would it be so terrible to trust me!?"

"...I...I just...can't…" Alfred mumbled-looking away.

"He's quite right, Arthur. He can't. Literally. That hex won't let him."

Arthur started at Rhys's abrupt entrance and subconsciously pulled the child closer to his chest-closer to a heart that was very much in agony. How could it not be?

His child didn't want to love him.

"It's some kind of hex of forgetfulness...why for a moment this afternoon, when it flared up, he forgot me altogether," Rhys noted.

Arthur stared, "Rhys?"

"You're wrong!" Alfred snapped. "I was shot, _that's_ why I can't remember!"

"Just then? When you forgot? _**That**_ was from your headshot?" Rhys questioned skeptically.

"Y-yes?"

"No; that's what you want to believe," Rhys replied.

"You're wrong!" Alfred burst out angrily.

"...and you've told yourself that lie so many times it's familiar enough to seem like the truth even though it isn't-"

"Shutupshutupshutup!"

"Perhaps if you were a human," Rhys mused. "The hex would've sealed correctly. Nations live too long. Of course a low level creature like Lome couldn't pull it off."

"Stoooop!"

Psychic pain lanced through Arthur, "That's enough you're hurting him!"

"But it's shoddy. Even you must recognize that," Rhys nodded at Alfred. "You're aware of that piece you can't get to. It's a locked door. If that spell was done proper, you wouldn't know it existed at all."

"Rhys!" Arthur growled as his child shuddered; the little face was stretched in anguish.

"I thought you'd like to know," Rhys shrugged as he drug a seat to sit across from them. "Arthur, it's not simply a lifetime of poor parenting decisions coming to roost."

Arthur sent him the most withering look he could.

Rhys paid it no mind, "It's the hex you're battling with right now. Poor Alfred, I daresay you've been struggling against it for years-especially now. I'm impressed you accepted Arthur's invitation at all. That you genuinely in your heart of hearts _**want**_ to be reconciled." He shook his head, "Considering how it's actively sought to sabotage all of your relationships every step of the way."

The boy pressed his face into Arthur's collarbone and Arthur's arms curled protectively around him, "You're hurting him."

"The hex is hurting him," Rhys clarified. "Isn't it Alfred? It wants you to forget that piece of your heart. And anytime you call upon it...any time it cries out for Arthur's comfort, the hex stings you. Sometimes immediately. Sometimes later. But it always comes doesn't it? That's why you have such trouble connecting with us, you know you'll be punished for it. In light of that, I'm _amazed_ you managed to bond with Texas."

Arthur's eyes widened in horror.

His hand, which had reached to tuck an errant strand of his son's hair, faltered.

The idea that his own presence could do the child harm...that just...the _desire_ for his presence…

Blue eyes focused on the hand, as he began to pull it back.

At least until-

' _Don't leave me'_ was mouthed silently...tearfully.

"Never," he murmured hoarsely as he embraced the child tenderly. Dreadfully aware that they were standing in an impossible, treacherous place.

The more he tried to bond and reassure, the more venomously the hex responded. But if he stepped back, the heart would think itself abandoned once more.

There was no scenario where his child didn't suffer.

This had to be hell.

 _Morgan le Fey chuckled as blood, ill will, and a spotty Breton dialect dribbled from her lips._

 _Breton because she wanted to doom his language to extinction...and she'd succeed:_

" _One day Cadeyrn...One day...you will love...and by the powers of my hate...I…heh heh heh...one day you'll be caaaarelessssss…" she finished in a sing song tone. She grinned and reached a claw to his face, caressing his cheek so sharply it bled. In a hushed voice of dying glee she whispered, "...and I'll tear that little heart you_ _ **love...**_ _to shreds...while you watch."_

Monstrous…

Unforgivable…

If he could kill her twice he would…

If only for wishing something so awful on his babe.

* * *

Alfred moved the red crayon vigorously to fill in the Red Baron's Fokker Dr1 Dreidecker. He'd already finished himself and his biplane. The dogfight looked hecka cool. He chose a good artsy angle.

Tex thought it was neat-he gave him a thumbs up before returning to a Texas Hold'em Poker app on his phone.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and winced; his dad looked totally wrecked.

Their...confrontation...earlier had messed him up. It worried him; the old man wasn't bouncing back like he usually did.

"Hey Dad, lookit," Alfred held his picture up.

"Very nice," Arthur complimented; eyes dull and unfocused.

Alfred set the paper down and wandered over to where his Uncle Rhys was sorting a jar of buttons and jotting down on a notepad the number of matching ones.

"Sooo...What gave us away?" Tex asked as his thumbs moved along his screen."You knew we were up to something even before Canada toldja about the 'shrooms. Didn't you? You have that smug air about cha."

Rhys scoffed, "I knew _something_ was afoot because you took an exorbitant amount of salt and sugar from the kitchen."

"We're Americans."

Rhys snorted, "American or not, it was odd."

Alfred shrugged and then smiled, "Oregon Trail supply run."

"Indeed."

At least things between him and Rhys were okay. Reilley was ticked at him and Arthur was…

He risked another look to see Arthur staring vacantly at the television mouth parted slightly.

Maybe they should've done more for him.

Rhys had simply asked Alfred what they could do to make himself feel better. And while it was embarrassing having to admit that he just kinda had ups and downs ever since their second war. He had learned that working helped his mind get over stuff that upset him.

So Rhys put him to work in the ballroom with Eva counting out little glass pebbles and faux diamonds to set at all the round guest tables. They then sorted feathers for vases for Olivia to use, measured ribbon for Kaoru and Pippa, and helped Wy set up easels around the place.

One easel for a huge print out of the Ball's events, another with a menu, and a third that would be for one of their group pictures.

Working made him feel useful especially since he wasn't allowed to help eradicate the mushrooms.

It was lame; Tex, Mattie, Jet, Jake, Reilley, and the staff were outside doing that manly task while he was indoors.

Still, at least he was in the info loop; Wy told him that the Ackerson Photo Studio portraits had arrived earlier.

He (and apparently everyone else) expected Arthur to pounce on that, but he just sorta shuffled around the ballroom saying all the decorations looked "lovely" until the word "lovely" seemed to lose all meaning.

Alfred put his crayons away; having had time to cool down and think about what Rhys had theorized about his hex. It gave him hope. What he'd been dealing with all this time wasn't normal, well, the distrust was normal, but the intensity! His inability to govern his temper during freakouts...his systematic need to drive away people he loved even when he wanted to have them close!

It wasn't _all_ him!

From the sound of it, a lot of it was the hex.

And that just...Geez, if he could get rid of that…

He wouldn't feel like such a basket-case.

* * *

Arthur frowned at the wall...at the shadows his bedside lamp cast on it. At the silhouette of a very awake little boy.

"Alfred, please go to sleep," he sighed.

"You feel weird and cranky," Alfred muttered and punched at his pillow to soften it. "I can't sleep if you're angry with me. I hurt your feelings, I know, I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry. I'm far too exhausted to be angry." Depressed was closer. Every sinew felt weighed down with a crushing sense of helpless hopelessness.

He tapped his fingers against the seams of the coverlet.

The hex was hindering them from healing. They needed to remove the hex. But to remove a hex, you had to know the wish that it had spoiled from. But Alfred didn't know the wish it came from. So they'd have to group cast in order to try and remove it through the sheer force of magic. To group cast they'd need Alistair...maybe even Romania and Norway. But definitely Alistair. And Alistair was hunting Grym. Because Grym worked for the insane UnSeelie King who wouldn't rest until Alfred was in his clutches. The same UnSeelie King who had Arthur's wand. The wand Arthur would need if he was to participate in the group casting that would remove the hex that was on his child that was hindering their healing.

Bloody UnSeelies...this was why they were hated!

"Well, I can't sleep til you chillax," Alfred complained-poking him in the back.

Arthur sucked in a painful breath, "So...you were just going to try and undertake a magical quest alone? Even though you have little experience in the occult let alone the UnSeelie Court?"

Alfred huffed, "It wouldn't be the first time that I've gone behind enemy lines and just had to wing it."

Arthur began to snicker half deliriously, "You planned to just figure things out as you went. All alone."

"Well, Tex was gonna come too," Alfred pointed out.

"Figuring things out. _**All alone**_."

"Hey, that's not nice. Tex has good instincts."

"..."

"He's got my back."

Arthur's nostrils flared, "A halfwit and a nitwit. Yes, I'm sure you two had brilliant odds against an _entire_ kingdom."

"You're a real piece of work, ya know that?" Alfred growled.

Arthur turned over and propped himself up on one arm.

Alfred frowned heavily enough that the lamplight made dark shadows on his face, "My whole life...my _whole life_ you've told me stories about how awesome you are. You're a nation, you're a warrior, you're a knight, you're a privateer, you're an admiral! Shared all your adventures of the epic stuff you've done...and then you go all Mama Hen on me for standing on a roof! I've done stuff! Great stuff! You just don't know cuz you weren't around! I'm not some loud mouth hack! And even if I was, you're a hypocrite. You swung on a chandelier! You had a knife 'tween your teeth! You fought Grym with a sword! You took on wendigo!"

"It's not a game! It's not a competition!" Arthur replied desperately. God, he was so tired. So worn down. And it seemed the hex was flaring up now...flinging up all the hurts Alfred buried down and cutting Arthur up with each one.

"No, it's not! It's about respect! Just like you said! You don't respect me. You never have. I'll always be some pathetic little urchin you found underfoot and you scraped me off in 1783-"

"You know that isn't true-"

"You never even thanked me for showing up in the Great Wars."

Arthur blinked-caught off guard that the conversation was swerving this way. He shook his head, "You came late. You came grudgingly."

"But I came!" Alfred stressed as he waved his hands in melodramatic gestures. "I came! Even after everything that happened in 1812! When you-"

"I didn't **know** what befell you, Alfred. We-"

"Well, you know **now**!" Alfred insisted.

"Thank you!" Arthur hissed as his temper lashed out.

"..." Alfred's mouth trembled.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

Damnation. Damn it, Arthur. Damn it, England. You're the adult. Pull yourself together man...he needs your patience. It's his feelings. It's a hex's vindictive presentation. Genuine hurt hurled in the most violent way possible.

"...Alfred…"

"...You suck...you-you really..." Alfred began breathing so hard and shallow, Arthur feared the boy was going to hyperventilate.

"Alfred, deep breaths," he instructed "1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. "

"You really suck," The child barked savagely. "You shook their hands. You hugged them and you ruffled their hair and you said ' _Well done.'_ You said ' _I'm proud of you!'_ You-you-you didn't even care I was watching! I didn't get anything! You didn't give me **anything**! Anything besides your contempt!"

Worshipper of the scales…

' _I'm the one that's always watching, so I'm the one who knows you best.'_

Every cruel action. Every barbed word. Every sharp glance.

' _It's necessary keeping track of all your flaws, I have to present them all the time…"_

Held tight and treasured. Everything was a gift for that macabre alter: the Grief Scale.

He stared helplessly as Alfred slipped out of bed-barefeet slapping the ground as he sprinted to his room.

Running again...

"Alfred!"

"You suck!" Alfred hissed and slammed the door.

Damn you, Blue...

For a moment, Arthur just stared up at the ceiling.

" _We're fighting a hex, Arthur," Rhys informed him solemnly as they made ready to turn in for the night. "A truly nasty one. Be warned. He's going to act increasingly bizarre the more we confront it."_

 _Arthur nodded miserably._

" _He can rest with me tonight," Rhys offered. "It might even be wise to alternate. One night with me. One with you. If Reilley can get his head out of his arse, one night with him."_

" _No…" Arthur breathed._

" _Arthur…"_

 _He shook his head, "Not with the UnSeelies after him. I'd never forgive you or Reilley...if they took him on your watch."_

 _Rhys frowned, "Arthur...the magic in that hex knows you're a threat. And it will continue to escalate its attacks to drive you away, so it can-can-I don't know-preserve the status quo? I predict, he's going to start saying really awful things to you."_

 _Arthur closed his eyes, "...I know…"_

" _Arth-"_

" _He begged me not to leave him. I won't."_

A half-muffled keening sound interrupted the silence.

' _Red just has so much trouble letting you go.'_

He pulled himself out of bed and limped towards Alfred's bedroom.

He knocked on the door, "Sweet? We agreed it was safest to stay together. Remember?"

Until this UnSeelie crisis was over and done with-Alfred couldn't afford to be alone. Rhys brought it up. Alfred agreed!

"O hang it all, I don't care. If they come for me, then they come."

Arthur leaned his face against the wood, " _ **I**_ care. You know that. Please let me in."

"Why can't you say it?"

"Wot?" he sighed.

"Say it!"

Arthur slammed his fist against the frame, "I won't say it. Because my love doesn't depend on your ability to perform on the battlefield and I won't have you twisting my words to fit your narrative."

"Why can't you say it!?"

"Let me in," Arthur tried the doorknob and blinked as he turned it easily.

"Ack!" Alfred rushed over and tried to get it closed.

Silly goose forgot to lock it.

He put his good foot in to keep the door from closing.

Alfred pushed himself hard against the door.

Arthur sucked in a breath, braced himself, and forced his way in.

THUD!

"Oh!" Arthur hastily flipped the lightswitch. "Sorrysorrysorry, are you alright?"

Alfred glared up at him from the ground and defiantly crawled under the bed.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Didn't Grym spend an inordinate amount of time there, are you sure you want to be-"

Alfred shot out from underneath and was looking for a good spot, when Arthur hobbled over and picked him up.

His back cracked audibly and he groaned.

"You okay?" Alfred asked softly-wrapping his little arms around Arthur's neck-suddenly all cuddly concern for him.

These mood swings were going to be the end of him. He was sure that somewhere a Frenchman was laughing at him.

"Of course," Arthur switched the light off and carried him back to the larger room.

He set the child down on the mattress and firmly tucked the blankets back around him.

"Thank you for helping me back then. And I _**am**_ proud of you. I just don't need a war to be the reason why."

The child cried in response and Arthur texted Rhys to join them. Because...he was losing it. He wiped away a tear and then chewed at a corner of his thumb. He was going to have a breakdown, if he couldn't get support in this.

Watching his child be puppeted by a hex was just...awful.

* * *

Tex was one of the last at the kitchen table eating a fourth helping of bacon. The rest had gone off to study the pictures that had arrived yesterday.

Arthur had broken the seal on the package and now they were fair game to inspect.

" _If mine suck," Alfred muttered. "I have to destroy the evidence."_

 _Olivia voiced similar feelings and they made a fragile truce as they left the table._

" _Godspeed," Tex wished them around a mouthful of pancakes._

When the U.K. brothers returned to the room for an impromptu group meeting, they stared down at him with identical frowns...and Tex got a good look at Arthur.

"Ohhhh! Look who's fightin' the good fight now!?" Texas crowed-nodding at Arthur's dark circles.

"Wot?"

The U.K. brothers' eyebrows turned quizzical.

"You're boxin' with the glacier!" He clapped in approval.

"What are you on about?" Reilley demanded irritably.

"Ya know," he leaned forward conspiratorially-elbows on the table. "Not even Alaska and Hawaii have totally beaten it. Only me. I'm the only one." He jammed his thumb at his chest proudly. "Right here. King of the Mountain. Champion of that there gauntlet."

When Arthur glanced at him doubtfully, Tex shrugged a shoulder, "Oh sure he'll say nicer things to them than you. He's got less painful history with them. But believe me when I tell you that they are still more in the dark than you."

Arthur's brows drew together.

Tex nodded, "I can tell just from lookin' at cha. You're gettin' a front row seat to the nastiest side of him. The worst bits. He's startin' to lay into you, isn't he? Ya made it through the cheeriness, through the courtesy, through the distance, through the silence, through the tears, and now you gotta wade through the nasty-through the goddamn mean in him."

"You...endured this…" Arthur murmured in realization. "The hex."

Tex blinked, " _ **That's**_ what the hex is?!" He slapped a knee, "Well then, yessiree, I did. And you are chiseling your way through it too!"

"I feel horrid," Arthur admitted as he collapsed into a seat. "God, I feel so...so…"

"I know it! I know! Ya feel like horseshit, right? God, I remember that. I don't miss it at all. You poor sonuvabitch. Awful, ain't it?"

Rhys stared at him openly.

Tex grinned at Arthur, "If you don't mind my saying so, you are settin' an impressive track record. Really, you are blazing through. Two months and you are in the raving phase. It took me years to get that far. And you're goin' so fast, you guys aren't even dealing with all the backsliding shit that can happen. Course neither of you are on military campaigns so that helps. And you're old and I was pretty green behind the ears then. Bein' in the same area helps too, I mean when he gets left alone too long-he gets weird...and it's like starting all over...but-anyways...it is scary. It's real scary. But if you really love someone, you love 'em. You love all of 'em. Even their shadow."

"...shadow?" Arthur mumbled.

"Uh, huh," Texas nodded as he repeated, "Even their shadow. Al's pretty good about that. Ya know? You just show him you're the same," Tex nodded again "And you'll make it."

"You make it sound so simple," Arthur gritted through his teeth-bloodshot eyes narrowing.

"It _is_ simple," Tex scoffed "It's the same principle as a rodeo. Ya hold on and ya don't let go and ya pray for the best. And you'll probably still get gored. But no guts, no glory, right?"

"..."

Tex scratched at his chin, "Al told me you think I'm a nitwit."

Arthur choked.

Tex raised a dismissive hand, "I don't care. _**You**_ should though. This nitwit has Al's trust. This nitwit has Al's love. This nitwit is his righthand man and his confidente in all matters great and small. So this nitwit obviously did something right. And I can tell you right now, I didn't get to this spot by being fancy. Or clever. Or if we're honest...qualified. I didn't get to it by being all high and mighty and dignified." He gestured at the Briton.

Tex smiled as he leaned his chair back onto his hind legs-he reckoned he could've heard a pin drop.

"Tell me how," Arthur demanded quiet and serious and almost threatening.

He smiled, "Wising up, huh? Took ya long enough." It was kind of an insult. Matt knew he was the person to ask for tips from the get go even though he wasn't anywhere near as ready for them as Arthur was.

More likely, England was just too damn arrogant to think of him or ask for help. He knew America got that from somewhere.

"Are you going to gloat or are you going to help me help Alfred?" Arthur asked lowly.

"Yes," Texas answered soberly. "Cuz I'd do anythin' to help my baby brother. You listen real close now."

Green eyes were set unblinkingly on him.

"Al told me...well...he was drunk when he came out with it, but that's beside the point...anyways...he said that when he loved, he loved pathetically. ' _Devoted as a dog,'_ he said. I showed him I was the same."

The older men waited for him to elaborate. But that was his piece. He was done. He picked at his teeth with the prongs of his fork.

Arthur blinked, "That's your advice?"

"Yup, it's all you need to know," He pointed the fork at Arthur. "That is the trick."

"Wot?!"

"It's stubborn determination," Rhys clarified.

Tex smiled approvingly; Al said he wasn't just the snobby one, but the smart one of the U.K. Clique. Tex was starting to agree.

"Yessir."

The Welshman nodded and then his countenance began to brighten, "If your markers are correct then... I'm...well I'm actually pretty far along myself then. You see, I began in the silence portion."

"No way!" Tex replied and then thought on it. "You know...ya know. You're right. You actually kinda got a headstart."

"Yes, I-I think so," the man commented. "I think being actively mistrusted gave me an edge. And...I'm a horrible actor so, lying doesn't come easily to me. I lack the charm necessary to 'be nice' for deceptive reasons."

Reilley rolled his eyes, "Ain't that the truth?"

"And that's what's probably worked for you. Al appreciates folks that are candid."

Tex watched as Rhys nodded again, this time slowly.

Hazel eyes glinted, "I'm a very determined, candid person. My history could tell you that."

"Well then, you're gonna make it," Texas bet. He'd learned from firsthand experience that ya had to be a stubborn jackass cuz Al would throw everything and the kitchen sink. And once he ran outta stuff. Once he'd thrown all he could and you were still standing...it ended. And you found more than just peace...you found _Home_.

"Yes. Yes, I will." Rhys paused and then shifted slightly. "I mean...we will. Won't we, Arthur?"

"I don't want that hex to make exceptions for us," the blonde frowned. "I want it gone. I want him free of it. I want him to wake up in the morning without it looming over him. I want him to look into the faces of others and not see them as uncaring obstacles, threats, and deceivers. I want him to have friends. I want him to be close to his family. I want him to be happy damn it. I want to save him from it! And I'll do whatever it takes!"

Texas's mouth made a small 'o.' If _it_ was a hex that was causing all that, then that's what he wanted too!

Maybe his advice wasn't needed. He'd had a good feeling about the Brit when Alfred read out that message scrawled in that knight book he'd gotten for Christmas.

All fancy words and pretty phrases and Tex remembered thinking-if Arthur could just mean half of it, he and Al could be reconciled.

To know now that Arthur meant all of it...well, he was gonna have to recruit him to the Team U.S.A. line up. Maybe this next year, they could finally sing 'Happy Birthday' on the 4th of July and for a minute Alfred could feel less like a nation and more like a family member.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	63. Chapter 63

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or _I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls_ from Bohemian Girl. Dave Barry's _Going to war without the French is like going hunting without your accordion."_

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Scruffle should be a word. I'm fighting for it! Poking at the French. Throwing in some some Old English. Canada backslides. Blue. Mama Britannia. Elferingewort. More Family Drama.

 **An:** Thank you for your reviews! I survived the Group Project! Thank you for your well wishes! Now I've got an Old English recital/translation project and a Midterm for that class too! D : Yup; I've been swamped. So this chap will be a bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want y'all going into withdrawal. XD Enjoy!

 **Chapter 63: A Subconscious S. O. S.?**

* * *

Canada played "audience" for Barbados and Hong Kong as they finished up, " _I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls."_

He leaned forward as Olivia trilled:

" _But I also dreamt which charmed me most  
That you loved me still the same.  
That you loved me,  
You loved me still the same.  
That you loved me,  
You loved me still the same."_

He blinked hard and clapped harder-there was no way there'd be a dry eye tonight.

Yes, it was technically a standby since she and Kaoru hadn't really had time to practice anything new, given all the chaos, but they performed it so well! Everyone was bound to appreciate their talents.

Olivia nodded at Kaoru and smiled-passing a hand through her dark hair, "We'll give it one last practice in the ballroom and then get dressed."

They were all pretty upbeat as they carefully rolled the piano out of the Music Room and toward the Ballroom.

Both doors of the ballroom were open and they were about to push it over the threshold when a child's voice sang floated out:

" _Everyone loves me like Springtime_

 _When the fields are a'blooming each day…"_

Canada was about to push on but-

"No, wait," Hong Kong held his side of the instrument stationary.

"Well, we need-"

"Shh," Barbados raised a finger imperiously to Canada's lips.

Violet eyes narrowed-suspicious that her good moment with Alfred earlier was triggering her interest in him now.

 _Canada had been fairly pleased with the group photos. He was present, his eyes were open, and he wore a pleasant expression. C'est bonne._

 _He looked up as Olivia sighed again over her photos._

" _I wish he'd taken this one from my better side," she grumbled._

" _Puh-lease," Alfred scoffed-leaning over her elbow to steal a look. "You always look runway gorgeous. Have you seen my passports? Any of 'em? I swear they conspire against me. They wait until I blink and then I get this weird half-lidded thing goin' on."_

 _Olivia hesitantly peered at the picture in Alfred's hands, "That's...that's a good one."_

 _Alfred scrutinized it, "Yeah? You...you think he looks happy?"_

 _Olivia blinked-caught off guard by the question and then studied it again and nodded slowly, "...He's happy."_

 _Curious, Mathieu peeked at the picture. In it, Alfred was sitting on Arthur's lap; the two were smiling at each other rather than the camera-lost in their own world where none of the rest were welcome._

 _It made him remember nights where he was little and invisible curled up on the bottom step of the staircase-violet eyes watching Alfred get another bedtime story._

 _He'd wake up in the middle night cold because his brother wasn't cuddled next to him and didn't bother to pull the covers up when he left the bed. Mathieu would toddle in search of him and find Alfred with Arthur by the fireplace. The rocking chair would creak and they'd speak so quickly in English, he could only catch bits and pieces. He'd finally get so frustrated, he'd return to bed...and steal all the blankets._

To his own chagrin Mathieu felt annoyed as Hong Kong and Barbados walked around the instrument to peer into the room.

" _Fondness fades fast through the summer,_

 _Your time with me shortens each day._

 _You'll tire of me through the autumn;_

 _The sky and you're love will turn gray._

 _O nobody loves me in Winter,_

 _I've nothing left to make you stay…"_

Barbados nodded as Alfred continued singing. The blond was completely ignorant to their presence; he was lost in the art of arranging flowers.

Eva was seated at the next table in Alfred's lineup, her foot bobbing to the lilting tune.

Mathieu frowned up at the chandelier and then back to his agemates.

" _...and in winter my heart will remain."_

Mathieu was surprised to watch Olivia's eyebrows furrow together. He watched her nod appreciatively.

"And ya made that up yerself?" Eva asked as she played with her phone.

"Yup."

Mathieu blinked in surprise; he didn't consider Alfred particularly creative when it came to the arts. It wasn't a bad melody-simple, but not terrible. The lyrics, again, simple but effective in conveying-

"God, tha's a sad one, Alfie" Eva commented.

"It is the song of a nation!" Barbados declared abruptly as she strode in-high heels clacking.

Alfred dropped a rose and teetered precariously on the chair he was standing on, "H-huh?"

"It is the heart song of a nation," she reasserted as she put a bracelet laden hand on her hip.

Mathieu winced; Olivia loved analyzing literature and music for meaning and could be pushy in promoting her interpretations.

"The people only love you when you're yielding. Sugar, cotton, pearls…" she listed. "A human could not hope to under-"

"Dude!" Alfred frowned. "Stop, she's my...friend...ly acquaintance. Well, she's really Arthur's friend-"

"Oi, I'm _**your**_ friend, too!" Eva insisted-standing up.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and gave a lackluster recitation of Joseph Parry's, " _Make new friends, but keep the old. Those are silver, these are gold._ "

"Oi...come on now...you're golden to me," she murmured kindly.

Alfred blushed and hurried to a table on the far side of the room to start working on its bouquet babbling about wanting to see STAR WARS and was anybody else interested in seeing that-cuz he wanted to go see it.

Olivia made to follow, but Mathieu held her elbow, "Olivia leave him-"

"It's the same," she frowned. "You don't hear it because they're different words and different beats, but they're kindred songs: _I also dreamt which charmed me most that you loved me still the same._ _ **He**_ sings: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter... _ **only**_ loved in Spring. He just wants the love to be the same and..." Her eyes got overbright. "His heart gets left in Winter."

Mathieu stared at his shoes. Trust America to get so melodramatic about winter. Like no one else in the world dealt with cold seasons and cold people...

* * *

Arthur sighed and rolled over on his side-dreaming of warm Halls and wintry nights in centuries passed.

 _Arthur drank deeply from his mead cup. Pleasantly warmed, he smiled to his mother who was sitting across from him. A thegn offered to fill her goblet, but she declined._

 _England frowned. He wanted her to share in his success. If only she could've survived longer, known him later, when he had power enough to have protected her._

 _He stared down into his cup and scowled; she never eats or drinks when she's with him. It was hard to enjoy the feast._

 _Her gaze moved down to his right elbow, he followed and found his child standing there. While some distant portion of his memory niggled that this was entirely the wrong period of time (Alfred's 1600s garb betrayed that), he couldn't bring himself to care._

 _He set his cup far out of reach and eagerly pulled the child up onto his lap to fuss over him._

" _Min sunnu," he crooned as he cupped the child face and planted a kiss to his forehead. "Ič lufie þē."_

 _The child stared at him uncomprehendingly._

 _Arthur frowned, "Hwaet biþ þa-"_

 _The child turned away and stared at the harper, "Tehalihwákhwa."_

 _Arthur blinked._

 _The child repeated the word._

" _Albion," Britannia murmured solemnly-setting her pale hands on the rough hewn table._

 _Alfred began to fidget-wanting down._

 _Arthur felt his heart sink; nonono he wanted his family together. He hurriedly reached for a thick slice of bread and slathered it with honey. The child accepted his offering and settled back into his father's embrace._

 _Arthur sighed in relief and kissed the child's temple._

 _He just wanted this. Them together. Safe. Warm. Fed. How could that be asking too much?_

 _He gently wiped the child's sticky fingers once he finished his treat._

 _Alfred pointed to the harper._

 _Arthur nodded, "Aye, he singeþ well and gōd. Want þu hiere?"_

 _He held the child on his hip and walked over so they could listen to the ballad of Beowulf._

" _Albion," Britannia warned as she reached for him; her cold fingers chilled his arm even through his thick tunic and fur cloak._

 _Alfred began to kick; Arthur reluctantly set him down._

 _The Briton scowled as he turned to address his mother._

 _Her eyes went wide and he froze._

 _A gust of cold wind burst through the wall and he turned._

 _He gaped, his child had rushed over to the far side and opened the door of the Mead Hall. A dark, icy abyss extended beyond._

" _Ælfræd!"_

 _The child stood staring into the darkness._

 _Another harsh wind blew and made Arthur's eyes water. He blinked hard, "Ælfræd! Her cume! Her wið fæder."_

 _Arthur gasped, somewhere between seconds America had transformed into Blue, who stared dispassionately at him._

 _Arthur glared._

 _Britannia sighed and her grip tightened._

 _Her breath was deathly cold as she whispered in his ear, "See him as he is. Not as he wants you to see."_

 _England glowered-she didn't understand! Blue was practically an embodiment of their struggle-the part of himself that Alfred weaponized against his father and anyone else who tried to care for him. He could very well be the Hex given tangible form for he seemed to exist for the sole purpose of causing him pain and sabotaging their happiness._

" _Enough," Britannia barked and frowned at him. "We fix this now. You say you_ _ **love**_ _him. Then love him! Love him and You. Will. See."_

 _She manhandled him to turn him back around._

 _Her rebuke cut him to the quick, of course he loved his child-no matter the form, no matter their arguments. He'd always love-_

 _The image flickered._

 _Green eyes widened._

 _Again, the form shuddered._

 _O God._

" _You see him," Satisfied, Britannia released her hold._

 _If only he could unsee him._

 _But the illusion was spoiled. And Arthur knew with sickening certainty now that Blue wasn't something that sprang up after Red perished as he'd assumed._

 _No…_

 _Green eyes took in the misshapen form..._

 _God..._

 _Blue...for all intents and purposes was, would've been, White's twin. A split of sorts born of doubt and loss and heartache and betrayal._

 _That damned woman Sarah! Arthur sucked in a painful breath._

 _White was thrown from the cliff. Blue landed on the rocks._

 _Arthur's heart cleaved in two and he gingerly approached-opening his arms to the little one who flinched away._

 _Realizing he'd been unveiled, the twisted, nearly headless child crossed the threshold and barrelled straight into the darkness._

Arthur choked as he came to, he stared with teary eyes at the ceiling and then over to his alarm clock. It took him a moment to make out the blurred numbers. He'd woken up a bit early.

He'd set it for two hours-figuring he was in desperate need of a nap if he was to host the night's event with any trace of dignity.

He swallowed down a sob.

What he'd said to Alfred was more true than even _he'd_ realized at the time.

" _I want you to be able to move past this…_

 _So you can be alive again...you're breathing,_

 _but your heart's tangled in the past_

 _and your mind charges toward the horizon._

 _You're in pieces..."_

And all the pieces were dead.

Red, White, and Blue were, all three of them, dead fragments-expecting growth and change from them was…a fool's errand.

They were locked in place.

Arthur's heart spiralled deeper into gloom.

No, he couldn't despair. Alfred aged. If he hadn't he'd have remained a sixteen year old, and would've reverted post-spellbreak to a six year old.

He was clearly seven. And since he was seven, he managed to grow. How?

For Mother to visit Arthur in his dreams like that, she wanted him to figure out something vital. But what?

Yes; he'd misunderstood Blue...who seemed to be some sort of defense mechanism...that had been...chosen from the three...because his fate was...the worst? He was some manner of cruel epiphany?

But America managed to grow…green eyes widened...after he met Texas…

Texas wasn't exaggerating when he said he'd made it through a gauntlet of obstacles…

The Hex…

Red, White, and Blue were involved with the Hex somehow.

So if it was 1812-no...later...if it activated after the fire...1814?

White was already dead, Blue was...already dead…

Red…was freshly dead...

Arthur frowned.

...meaning for all the time Arthur had known Alfred...Red was alive…

So Red came into being following Blue's immediate death...and...no one followed...Red…

The Hex didn't allow it.

Were they part of a cycle? Stages of maturity? Or were they like seasons of the soul? Like...seasons…? If they weren't simply traits and colors but also doubled as seasons…

Alfred kept singing that song...that awful, tragic song...that broke Arthur's heart. He sung almost subconsciously as he arranged flowers or wandered the halls…

Why was he singing, no, _**who**_ was he singing to? Who was doing the singing?

Arthur pondered over how Alfred had desperately woven flowers into a chain months before his capture in what felt like a lifetime ago. His magic just...bubbled up…

Was it all a subconscious S. O. S.?

Realization struck: Blue was Winter, White was Autumn, Red was Summer, and...where the bloody hell was Spring?

Abruptly he thought of Blue...standing in the meadow, standing in the shattered mindscape, standing in...for Spring...because he didn't turn up.

What in the world had Alfred wished for?

What terrible thing had he desired? That the Hex was compelled to preserve him through a spiritual death? Through...holding Spring? hostage?

Arthur closed his eyes and raised a hand to his hair-mostly dry now. He rubbed the cool flesh of his upper arms.

After his shower, he'd been unable to locate his house robe anywhere and had settled for resting in his lucky Union Flag boxers (because if any day needed luck it was this one) and a white undershirt.

He sniffled and stretched his back and tried to distract himself-

There was a grumbled, "Five more minutes," from behind him.

Arthur startled and turned to find Alfred curled up near him.

So... _ **that's**_ where his house robe went, he thought dumbly.

The child was curled up in the overlarge garment and looking so content. It was a shame to rouse him. The child had slept fitfully that night.

He tentatively stroked the gold hair-too aware that the Hex might punish Alfred for it.

"Why…?"

The child smiled sleepily and yawned, "You kept calling to me, so I found you."

Arthur paused, "I did?"

"Mm-hmm," Alfred gestured to himself. "Sensed it. You needed me. Admit it."

"Always."

That garnered a bright smile and the boy cuddled close.

It was a stolen moment; and they'd probably have to pay for it later but-Arthur breathed in the scent of flowers and held the child tightly, desperately, until the alarm clock screeched.

"Poppet, we have to get ready now," He explained warily-shutting the clock off. "I set your clothes on your bed-"

One blue eye cracked open, "No! I gotta stay out of them for as long as possible!"

Arthur frowned in concern, "Are they...not comfortable?"

Had he been too pushy? Purchased them without really gauging if Alfred enjoyed them?

The child cocked his head to the side, "Huh? No, I just-what if I get thirsty or hungry? And it just...goes all over. This one time I went through a drive through and they handed the drink and lid went off and SPLOOOSH. Plus, Americat gets super lovey dovey when I'm not s'posed to touch him. He'll lay on his little back and he'll trill and his little paws will kick the air and catch at your hands-"

Arthur forced a smirk, "If we're talking about Americat. The word 'little' doesn't apply."

"...My _**fat**_ cat will lay on his _**fat**_ back cuz he's fed _**fat**_ food from the _**fat**_ U.S. of A. and-"

"Alfred, what's wrong?"

Alfred twitched, "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Why must something be wrong? Is something wrong?...how...how are _you_...today?" The pitch of his voice kept getting higher and faster.

"Dearheart, are you jittery?"

"No." The pitch went even higher.

"There's no need to worry," the man murmured. "It's a party, that's all."

Alfred abruptly sat up.

"It's a _**ball!**_ A ball is NOT a party. I didn't learn any of the stuff you wanted me to learn about etiquette!" Alfred blurted. "I've only had a handful of magic lessons...I haven't accomplished anything! It's been like a year and I haven't done anything awesome! How am I s'posed to talk myself up tonight!?"

Arthur blinked and then frowned. At this point, considering the trauma the boy endured not just over the past year but several centuries, with an apathetic government, no familial support, and an emotionally crippling hex...that the boy remained sane (if understandably odd and eccentric) was a miracle.

Thick eyebrows furrowed, "You survived! What more need be said? And if anyone pries…" He took a deep angry breath, "If anyone pries, send them my way."

Alfred sighed dramatically and flopped back down, "I can't keep throwing the ball to you every time something difficult crops up and I'm in a corner. I'm s'posed to-"

Arthur scowled, " _Nor_ do you have to solve everything on your own!"

"Heh, I haven't gotten to solve anything lately...ya know horror movies?...I'm the load."

"Impossible; you are not a cheese-eating surrender monkey therefore you cannot be assigned the designation of 'load.'"

"That's...heh...that's...mean," America giggled and then added "Dave Barry says: _Going to war without the French is like going hunting without your accordion."_

They shared a laugh at the Frog's expense and got dressed.

Arthur was standing at his dresser with a bowl of water, his razor, leather strop, and towel because it was easier to stay out of the bathrooms while the children were getting ready.

Also, shaving closer to the time of the event would reduce the chances of 5 o'clock shadow appearing an hour into the festivities.

He'd had to have a pair of dark trousers modified to cover his cast-stupid thing. His leg was nearly healed. Another day or two and he'd be able to remove it without fear of reinjury.

In the mirror, he watched his son's antics-hopping on one foot and then the other while he attached his shirt stays to his socks. The boy disappeared into his room for a time and Arthur heard various knocks and thumps of drawers being opened and closed haphazardly.

Arthur carefully maneuvered his straight razor against his upper lip.

He toweled his face after he finished and put on cologne. He ran a comb through his hair, declared it a lost cause, wiped his hands, and put his vest and gloves on-trying not to reminisce.

This would be the moment...centuries ago it would be at this moment...a little hand would tug at the legs of his trousers, digging fingers into the fabric and causing creases that Arthur would later sigh over but couldn't muster any ill will towards.

Because a little voice would sweetly ask:

"Daddy, can you help me?"

And he'd be offered a tiny red ribbon that meant the world to a child and permission to handle it was a sign of utmost faith.

"Daaaaaad," It took a minute and a tentative one finger poke to return him to the present.

Green eyes slowly moved downward.

Alfred's little socked feet kicked at the floor, "I mean if you're busy er since you're-you're busy it doesn't have to be now, but...I mean when you're all done...it's just you tie these really good-er-well. C-can you?"

Come on, Arthur ol' boy, hold it together. Don't. Cry. Don't-God, he was tearing up.

He graciously accepted the quiet token of love, "Of course."

He knelt down and with very gentle fingers, he tied the blue silk cravat around the child's throat-taking great care to ensure it wasn't too tight.

Once he was satisfied with the large blue bow, he noticed Alfred's hair.

"Eh? W-what did-"

"I'm making it lie flat," the child replied a bit defensively. "Like you always tell me to."

And which Alfred usually whined and resisted. Arthur could never achieve it because they'd lacked the hair accessories and products necessary at the time of Alfred's colonial days.

It ought to have been touching...but there was something awfully sad about seeing the mighty Nantucket defeated by five strategically placed bobby pins and a toxic amount of hairspray.

Arthur removed his gloves and tucked them into his waistcoat pocket. He then reached into the overly coiffed mane and plucked the pins out.

"H-hey?!"

He ruffled and scruffled until Alfred resembled himself again.

"Dude?" Alfred glanced at the mirror. "This is my everyday style...are you sure that's okay?"

Arthur leaned back with a hand to his chin in contemplation, he then very deliberately gave one more teasing scruffle and then smiled, " _ **There's**_ my handsome boy."

* * *

Tex was feeling pretty sexy as he winked to himself in the mirror: Black corduroy jacket, black hat, jeans...yeah, he was wearing jeans...adventure favored jeans and his new boots. Man, they were beauties.

He turned as he noticed his little brother playing hopscotch on the marble tiles.

"Well hey, that's some mighty fine footwear, you're wearing," he complimented-nodding at Alfred's boots.

Alfred beamed, "Dad got them for me."

"Well ain't that a nice," Tex caught sight of Mathieu's dark look as he scanned their brother's shoes and felt his smile freeze "thing?"

"It's just Christmas every day for Alfred," Mathieu muttered.

Awww crap. Matt backslid and fell off the wagon.

"A-actually," Alfred clarified. "I was s'posed to get these _**on**_ Christmas, but Dad forgot cuz-stuff-and I got them now. They're cool, cuz-cuz they have etching on them and-"

"Well, he's just gotten you everything. Clothes, room and board, travel tickets. You're bought and paid for-"

"Shut up Matt!" Tex growled. "What's your deal?"

"My deal is-is…" Mathieu scowled at their younger brother, "Can you just-just step back for one night? Can you survive ONE night where you're NOT the center of everything? Where you're NOT an attention whore?"

"So you can step up into that spot? Primadonna?" Tex sneered back.

"Ta Gueule! Texas!"

"Wha's that, I hear, Neighbor to the North?" Tex drawled. "You want Round 2. Ding Ding! We can have Round 2!"

Clothes were jerked, that bastard knocked his hat off, and their rumble was just gettin' underway.

"Guys stop it!" Alfred demanded. "You're gonna ruin stuff! Property damage! You're liable to be sued and-and-dammit listen to me. Fine. You pushed me to this. You only have yourselves to blame. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"

Both young men flinched.

"What's going on?!" Arthur demanded breathlessly-limping forward with his cane. "What's happened-what?" He took in their disheveled appearances and frowned in disapproval. "The guests will be arriving any minute! What the devil are you doing?"

"Ask Matt, he's the one with issues tonight!" Tex pointed-knowing from experience that he-whoever-spoke-first set the tone of the interrogation. Mexico usually played that card whenever they fought and Spain separated them.

"Mathieu?" Arthur asked.

The Canadian shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he released Tex's lapels.

Tex rescued his hat from the floor.

"He's angry I'm here," America volunteered. "And that I'm an attention whore."

Arthur winced, "Alfred don't use that word."

"But that's what _**he**_ said-"

"He IS an attention whore," Mathieu scoffed.

Tex did not envy the look Arthur sent his way for that.

Green eyes narrowed, "That is unkind, unwarranted, and unacceptable. You will apologize or you will go to your room and sit out the ball."

Alfred gasped, "Whoa that's harsh." He tugged at the hem of Arthur's frock coat "You can't-"

"Alfred. Do not interrupt me, please."

"S-sorry."

Arthur's nostrils flared as he inhaled, "Mathieu, those are your choices."

The Canadian shook his head in disbelief, "You're going to send me to my room, like a child?"

"Act like a child and you're treated like a child," The Briton snapped.

Thus began a brief stare down that concluded with Arthur stuffily repeating, "You have two options."

Mathieu stalked away and up the stairs.

Arthur sighed and nodded. He noticed Alfred's open mouthed shock and tapped his chin, "Flies will get in, if you maintain that expression and-"

"Oh. My. God!" Alfred rasped. "You had a fight. You guys-you guys-guys had a fight! I never ever EVER seen you have a fight before-"

"Alfred, do not make this a scene. Mathieu and I have had disagreements before. Now please, enter the ballroom and I implore you not to speak poorly about your brother behind his back this evening. We can address the issue tomorrow."

Guests started arriving pretty quick after that and seemed to have it out for Tex. He'd already had a handful point blank ask Texas if he could point them out on a map to which he shrugged: "Nope."

He delivered it with enough aggressive apathy, that it scared the snobs away. Maybe it was cuz he also added that he usually learned geography through military conquest.

He perked up as he noticed a small figure in blue.

"Whatcha got there, little brother?" He nodded at the plate stacked high with chocolates "You leavin' any for the rest of us?"

"I just-I wanted-" he stared over to where a gaggle of guests and former territories had surrounded England.

They strolled over.

"Yes, I fear I won't be up to dancing," Arthur smiled politely. "Took a tumble."

There was a collective "Oh" of sympathy.

"Now now, I look forward to the evening. Olivia and Kaoru have a lovely musical piece for us to enjoy and-"

Alfred slipped his way through the bodies and presented the chocolates.

"Goodness," Arthur blinked. "Are those for us?"

"Didn't know America doubled as a Maitre D, trying to pay back that deficit?" Botswana snickered as he tried to take a sweet...only to have Alfred take a half step back.

"Alfred," Arthur warned.

"Earlier, when we were getting ready...you...you said you never get one of the rum flavored ones..." Alfred held the plate up triumphantly.

Arthur blinked and forced a light laugh, "Well, it's a bit early for sweets. We've not even sat down for a course."

"I can hide them," Alfred offered-totally serious.

Arthur laughed again, patted Alfred's head, and smartly took one of the chocolates and the plate itself-passing it around for others to sample.

America returned to Texas' side dejected.

The blond fiddled with the ends of his blue bow, "I'm just no good at this. I can be a host, I can be a guard, I can be a speaker, I just...I'm no good at being a guest."

The brunet shrugged, "Yeah, me neither. I'm just rude...and don't really care. Headsup, don't know if I already mentioned this but...the EU does NOT want me to filling in for you, now that you're back. I got another email from the other Australia..the mean one, ya know-with the piano and the glasses-"

"Austria?"

"Probably?"

Alfred shook his head, "I dunno how we're gonna make it. There's still a whole hour for everybody to arrive. A whole hour before we get to eat dinner. And nobody here...well...nobody likes us."

"Yup; that sounds about right. Ya wanna play cards?"

Banished to a far corner table, they played several rounds of Go Fish. Midway through Memory, Eva appeared-complaining about having to wear a strapless bra with her cocktail and how the stupid thing kept slipping.

The three of them played Egyptian Ratscrew a few times and then boredom infiltrated and they finally devolved into the old standby game of 'What was in Tex's pockets?'

Eva stared, "This is a game you play?"

Tex glared, "Hey! When you're stationed in the middle of nowhere and you've played so many rounds of cards that they've cracked and you've memorized all the bends and folds and there are no surprises and ya can't play Poker...YES-yes this is a legitimate game. 'Specially since it's been a couple years since I've worn this coat, so not even _**I**_...know what the pockets are holding."

It turned out to be Post-It-Notes, _Red Robin_ crayons, ketchup packets, a clean though wrinkled Kleenex, and an old safety pin.

Rhys surprised them then by sitting down at their table-nose wrinkling at what he clearly considered 'rubbish.' Tex stuffed it all back into his coat.

Still, old Snobby wasn't as hard hearted as usual.

The Welshman addressed Alfred warmly enough that Tex started to relax, "I'm glad you informed us of the rings. There were quite a few. Elferingewort can be very dangerous and most of them were active. It explains why we've had so much...interaction lately."

Alfred nodded and poked at the decorative votive positioned artfully in front of their table's vase, "It must've taken forever weeding 'em all out. How long did the big one take?"

Rhys's mouth opened a bit and then he frowned, "The...big one?"

"Yeah, the big one," Alfred insisted. "I only saw it cuz I was sitting on top of the house. How long did it take to dismantle that one? It like-went all around and near the woods and stuff."

Hazel eyes widened and Rhys abruptly stood up and made a beeline towards Arthur and Reilley.

Eva swore softly and began twisting one of the fancy cloth napkins.

"Yeeeeah," Tex nodded. "Yeah, that didn't make feel good either."

The candle votive at their table went out and Alfred shivered and instinctively pulled his legs up onto his seat.

"Crap," Texas and Eva stood up-chairs screeching at the movement and backed away from the table. The hairs on the back of Tex's neck were on end.

Alfred boldly lifted the white tablecloth up and hissed into the darkness, "Dammit! What do you want Grym?!"

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	64. Chapter 64

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia (alas). Or Tremors (Yeah, I'm okay with that). Or Lord of the Rings. Or Legend of Zelda. Or Ugly jokes.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). America handles his situation. Arthur freaks. More drama ensues! Hey look some Scotland! And FAE! Yay!

 **AN:** Thank you sooo much for your reviews! I've been reading and rereading them. Yup, I'm still fighting the good fight with school and its determination to eat my spring break: I've got four big papers and an exam…pfbht. But before I'm swallowed down by Academia, here's a chap for you! Enjoy! : DDD

 **Chapter 64: Darkly Wondrous**

* * *

Alfred glared, "Hey, I'm up to speed now and I know how this thing works. Rule of three. Three strikes, dude, you're out. You can't get me now. Yeah, go suck on the chair leg of disappointment!"

"Hmm...three chances indeed...yesss….but the King wants you…and _we_...have...a deal... _you_ made a deal too...or did you forget...already?"

"I'm booked," he snapped. "And Tex didn't engage in lunch with me, you didn't wake him up, so you guys technically broke the contract yourself. I did NOT get what I asked for. I may not be an awesome magic-wielder but I AM awesome reader of fine print. I'm off the hook. We both know it."

..."Ah…" Grym tapped his remaining clawed hand and used one long finger to point "And what...about... _ **her**_ …?"

Alfred's head snapped to follow the direction and saw that Grym had already transported himself to where Wy was standing near the punch bowl.

Grym's claw toyed with the hem of her dress-dipping a claw tip into the poofy tulle underdress.

The Creep.

As if to further prove what a bastard he was, his hand then reached over and untied the shoe of a nearby Sealand. The boy didn't notice and kept talking to Wy as he dipped a skewered strawberry into a chocolate fountain.

Neither child sensed him at all.

Grym was just making a point; either of them. He could take either of them by force, easy. And what kind of hero would Alfred make if he just stood by and let him?

Bastard.

Alfred took in a deep breath. He looked over to where Arthur was standing, mingling, hosting. He was chuckling at something Australia said.

He looked all elegant in his fancy clothes-composed yet comfortable. Alfred had yet to fully master that skill. He was always so afraid of spilling stuff on his expensive suits, that he could never really chillax.

Alfred climbed off his chair and started crossing the great marble floor. He indulged in one last look at Arthur's smiling face...because it had to be enough and then resolutely made his way out into the hall.

As he crossed into the threshold, he walked taller; head up, shoulders back, fists clenched.

He put a hand on his hip and addressed the far shadow, "And now I'm gonna miss out on cake-"

"Hey," Tex complained while clomping after him.

Alfred blinked and turned around, "Tex?"

"You were trying to ditch me, weren't you?" Texas accused-brown eyes narrowing in anger.

"I…" Alfred released a hard breath, "Tex...I...I really can't guarantee your safety. You might wanna sit this one out."

"Tch."

"It's...gonna be weird. I mean...take a look at him" he jerked a thumb "He's probably...like...normal looking by their standards."

"Look...far as I see it," The Texan insisted. "This all just means Plan A's back on the table. You and me, partner. No supplies, but eh, we'll wing it."

"Oi! And me!" Eva insisted as she looked around, "Iron, iron, iron. We need iron. Aha!"

She grabbed an ornate doorstop and removed a candle sconce from the wall.

She started to hand Alfred the door stop, but he waved a dismissive hand.

"I have Dad's iron ring, but...that doesn't...you...I...Look...you can't come Eva."

She gave him a look that could've withered stone, "Don't even. I AM coming. I promised Artie when I signed up for the job of assisting you that-"

Alfred shook his head firmly, "No Eva-this is a whole new can of worms. This isn't PlayPlace. This...He'll understand-"

"Like bloody Hell he will! I've been talking to Gray. _**You**_ were kidnapped. And didn't tell me. And Artie...oh poor Artie he just got you back. And you then you got run over and-and-and...do you see that?" She pointed to where Grym was waiting expectantly.

It was kinda hard to ignore; the corner of the hall continued to darken until it seemed like a black hole.

"I'll Sesame Street it for you: Big dark corner with big scary monster...BAD. Bad as in...Not Good. Bad as in...dammit Artie answer your bloody phone," she glowered down at the scratched up Motorola in her left hand.

Alfred squawked and waved his hands, "No, he doesn't need to know...yet. This is his party, he gets to stay. We don't need everyone to start panicking. Nah, you give me an hour's head start and THEN you tell him."

"Oi, ya know it's not just about him," she glared-looking up from where she was texting. "What about me?!" she demanded "What part of _**I**_ promised, do you not get?"

"But you can't regenerate!" Alfred snapped. "You die and it's game over. You don't respawn, therefore you can't come!"

"And does respawning make death less painful?" Eva slipped her phone into her bra and then grabbed the dress at the armpits and sidled it up. "Huh? Does being a nation make death gentler?"

"What are you going on about?" America snapped.

She pointed a scolding-Mommy-finger at him, "I talked with your Dad over the phone during your death. I talked with Gray and the staff about how he dealt during it, I-I-Alfred?! If nations can love and grieve and worry. Then I damn well bet nations feel pain when they bleed. It hurt to be hit by that damn car, didn't it?!"

"..." Blue eyes looked away. Of course it hurt. It always did. He just got better at lying about it.

"You're mental, aren't ya? Some part of ya _**wanted**_ this," Eva growled with sudden certainty. "You've been looking for a reason you could find to go venture out into danger. Why? Are you mad? Let's just wait! Arthur will get here, we'll figure something out-"

"Yes...wait...and suffer...the children…"

"And that's why we can't wait Eva!" Alfred spat. Still, that wasn't to say he didn't have some reservations...or negotiation-wiggle room. "Oi Grym! New deal: if I come with you _without a struggle_...no harm can befall any of them," he gestured to the house. "Otherwise, I come back. No meeting with the king."

There was a tense pause and then Grym repeated back, "...no harm...to those in the house...agreed."

Alfred stood his ground and added, " _ **Or**_ any of their child-relatives!" remembering Eva's daughter.

With considerably more reluctance, Grym muttered, "...agreed."

Good. That was something at least.

The remaining lights of the hall flickered and dimmed.

Alfred nodded and started to move forward, "Tex, move your molasses."

"Gimme a goshdarn sec, I'm writin' a note and my eyes gotta adjust with the lights being wonky. Wait, wait for it...okay, alright. Lead on."

"Alright," Alfred murmured. "I'm the hero...so I'm gonna go first. If anybody wants to turn back, now's the time to do it. Grym can't hurt you, we gotta contract."

"Lead on" was the stony consensus.

They moved steadily closer to where Grym waited. Each step brought them deeper and deeper and deeper into an icy pitch black abyss and the sounds of the party soon faded away completely.

An arctic chill pressed in from every angle as they ambled along.

"So Elferingewort…" Alfred chatted into the darkness. "It makes it easy for you guys to slip back and forth between your world and ours?" Alfred asked. "That's how you guys kept popping around?"

A clawed finger traced his cheek and made him shudder, "...a pity...that you're learning that….just now...when it's too late...for you to do anything...about...it…"

The finger trailed down to his bow and before he swat the monster's hand away, Grym pulled the ribbon loose and stole it away from him. Jerkass! He was gonna get pervy monster germs all over it! Now he was gonna have to buy another one.

"Pity you're so ugly…" Alfred announced loudly. "On the day you were born, the doctor threw you out the window and the window threw you back."

Somehow despite all odds, Alfred and Texas managed to high-five.

And his brother eagerly continued the verbal onslaught, "Yeah Grym, you're so ugly, they call you Taco Bell - cuz when folks see you they run for the border."

* * *

England smiled as his champagne flute sparkled under the chandelier light. He took a sip and listened as Kenya, Botswana, and India discussed their hopes for the Rio Olympics.

He plucked an h'orderve from one of the servers' plates: an oyster in champagne jelly with cucumber and caviar. Delicious.

He did his best to include appetizers everyone would find delectable: vegetarian, vegan, meat, and fish options.

England frowned as America's name cropped up along with his widely publicized Zika fears.

Green eyes narrowed and he sent them a disapproving frown. The topic changed.

Arthur sighed as he remembered the little chocolate incident earlier. Alfred...poor awkward thing…

He meant well, but...he had a lot to learn about...mingling...and hiding away with Texas wasn't going to help him.

He needed to find a way to incorporate the boys into the group with innocuous topics. Literature was likely a safe subject to lead Alfred in, but Texas...what conversation could that boy engage in that wouldn't be offensive to others or for himself?

It'd be an insult to Spain if he didn't watch out for the boy. And it would be prudent to drum up an accord with the other father nation, since their children were so close. He couldn't expect Antonio to safeguard Alfred, if he didn't extend his efforts towards Texas.

Well, there were several conversations on sports already transpiring, perhaps, he could guide a conversation toward rodeos and let Texas-

"Arthur," Rhys addressed him-tone so serious, that Arthur immediately set his glass down.

"R-"

"There's a giant elferingewort surrounding the estate," Rhys stated. "The estate is literally trapped within-"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up, "Wot?!"

Rhys nodded, "Yes; I've sent Randolph and Andrew to the upper level to investigate. Alfred asked how long it took us to remove-and we weren't even aware and-"

That boy!

"WOT?! He knew?!" Arthur growled. "Why didn't he say anything earlier?!"

"I don't know, we can ask…" Rhys turned around and then turned back-eyebrows twitching. "...uffern…"

Arthur turned and noticed that the Americans' table was empty.

"No...nonono," Arthur closed his eyes and focused on reaching for his child and finding him...far...far...far….

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he charged across the ballroom to the hall-hastily followed by Rhys. The cane in his grip began to fracture.

Green eyes scanned the area, the darkened lighting and the snuffed candles.

There…

Arthur moved towards corner and felt along the wall.

It was solid and ice cold.

He slammed a fist against it and the plaster splintered under the impact.

Damnation. The portal was already sealed. With his wand gone, he'd need Wales and Eire to reopen it.

He looked over his shoulder and noticed that Rhys was studying a Post-It Note that had been stuck to the wall.

Arthur stalked over and ripped it off.

Damn thing was written in crayon:

 _Y'all, Eva & I went w/ Al_

 _Grym threatened Wy/CLnd_

 _Gonna meet w/ King & Kick Ass_

Arthur turned the note over.

 _PS-Save us some Victory Cake_

 _Al likes frosting flowers_

 _I like the Choco Founten_

So Texas couldn't spell well either.

Arthur's phone pinged with a delayed message from Eva.

 _Artie. Me Tex & Alfie vs._

 _Grym D :_

 _guests &kids n dngr._

 _Tradeoff: Meet w/ UnClee Kng_

 _Get ur a$$ here_

It pinged again. His son's message was brief.

 _Daddy don't freak. I got this : D_

Arthur exhaled slowly as he crushed the note and let it fall from his fingers. He slipped his phone into his pocket and flung his cane across the room as he made for the staircase.

"What did you lot storm out for?" He overheard Reilley's indignant voice get even louder as Rhys informed him of the situation, "He kidnapped three people and no one noticed?!"

Arthur gripped the railing and pulled himself up.

His Welsh brother was swift on his heels, clambering up the steps behind him.

"Shall we call in reinforcements? Try to contact Alistair? He should already be there-" Rhys reasoned.

Arthur hardly heard him over the angry buzzing in his ears.

That boy…he was trying to drive him mad.

 _Don't freak_ …

Don't freak?

The nerve! The goddamn nerve!

He left the stairs and moved with furious purpose down the hall.

"Sir?" Mr. Gray blinked at the sight of his shuddering form. "Is something-I just-I wanted to make sure Mathieu was comfortable in his quarters and-oh dear, something's happened. You have such a terrible look about you-"

Arthur's jaw clenched, "Grym has captured Alfred, Texas, and Eva."

"Good Lord," the man breathed as he reached out for the wall to steady himself.

"Extortion," Arthur hissed. "The beast threatened Wy and Sealand to get him to comply."

"Horrible...Sir, I...I'm so sorry. Should I alert Parliament? Do they have some manner of emergency contingency plan-"

"No, no...I'll _**deal**_ with the matter myself."

Arthur rolled his pant leg up, gripped the edge of the plaster cast, and broke it off piece by piece until his limb was free-struggling up the stairs with the inflexible thing convinced him it'd be impossible to engage in combat with.

"I apologize for the mess," Arthur stated tonelessly as he moved on unencumbered.

"No," Rhys's foot settled on the debris, "You're still injured. I will go, I can-"

"You two will remain and safeguard the children," Arthur turned to Mr. Grey. "Alert the staff. Rhys, fetch Mathieu and take him into the ballroom; it isn't safe for him to be up here alone."

"Arthur, I can go," Rhys argued. "I'm resistant to glamours and spells-"

Arthur ignored him and made for the armory.

"Arthur-"

He pulled the skeleton key from his pocket-he'd taken to carrying it around out of paranoia that the fae would cause more mayhem with it if he dared let it out of sight.

He entered the room and began sifting through various plates of armor, and artillery. His foray into the Wendigo fiasco opened him to the usefulness of modern firearms toward supernatural creatures.

He selected a bandolier and fitted pistols and ammunition into it-draping it over a shelf.

He shrugged out of his jacket and vest and pulled a shirt of chainmail over his head.

"Brother-"

He tied on his leather wrist guards, "You will help me open the portal."

He spotted the boots he kept there as an emergency because he was loathe to enter full battle in dress shoes-regardless of how fond he was of James Bond cliches.

He kicked off his loafers and pulled his cavalier boots on-tightening the garter straps on them so they wouldn't sag.

Alfred would call them swashbuckler boots. Those _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies got him so excited about English fashion...

His heart contracted painfully.

He chose a broadsword and attached its scabbard to his leather waist belt.

Yes; this blade would require close contact to dispatch Grym. Yes, it increased some risk of danger and injury as a result…but...

He couldn't deny that the feral, bloodthirsty part of him (the part he liked to think of as divided from himself) relished the idea of being a breath away-watching the monster's wretched life bleed out.

Wanted to feel the rush of warm blood spilling over his knuckles, hear the guttural choking splutter, stare in the wide unseeing eyes, and shove away the languid weight of a thwarted foe.

"Arthur what is it you plan to do after slaying Grym?" Rhys asked solemnly. "Your aura gone...very dark."

Arthur stared into a polished shield and traced a finger along the etching of the Kirkland family crest.

King Charles I was beheaded in 1649 for the good of the land. And while history books assumed the identity of his executioner was Richard Brandon...

"Whatever must be done," Arthur replied. "You're going to help me open that portal," When hazel eyes just stared, he hissed, " _Now!_ "

* * *

Alfred led the way through the cavern-esque hall. The halls were oddly circular, like they'd been tunneled by some huge creature. Which made him briefly daydream about a universe where he could use the graboid worms from _Tremors_ as part of a construction crew. Imagining the worms wearing yellow construction hats with lights on them singing "Can we dig it? Yes, we can!" made his current ordeal a little more bearable.

Cuz it was super creepy dark down here and the flickering green-flamed torches here and there were definitely an ominous touch.

There was just enough light for really creepy shadows to be noticeable and for him to observe Grym's form up ahead lurking from one dark spot to another.

It totally reminded him of Zelda dungeons.

Tex cupped his hands around his mouth to project better, "-so ugly your Mama had to tie a bone around your neck to get the dog to play with ya...hey Grym?"

"Oi you lot, I think he left," Eva murmured when the sound of a lame, dragging foot was no longer discernible.

"He ditched us?"

Alfred shrugged, "I didn't know boogeymen had such thin skin-"

Tex sighed, "And people wanna crack down on bullying-"

"I know, right? I mean the PC Police can whine all they want, but when you eat children for breakfast, public shaming should be a given-"

"Alfie," Eva hissed urgently as she gripped his shoulder.

Alfred paused and looked up. There at the far end of the tunnel was a tall slightly hunched elf in robes and dude...he was definitely not Lord of the Rings handsome.

He was totally old and he didn't have eyebrows.

The wrinkled gray creature wrung its saggy skinned hands nervously, "I see Brenhin..you've...you've accepted his highness's invitation."

"Like I had much choice," Alfred grumbled.

"You...you came…" the advisor repeated almost breathlessly. His wide pale eyes darted from side to side-searching the hall. He lifted up on his toes as if to peer behind their group, "Cadeyrn?"

Alfred blinked, "Huh?" Cater?

"Your...your Faeder? He...he's not...with you…?" He scanned the hall again.

"Uh...nope."

"Did you...show him," the creature rocked back on his heels and nodded his head hopefully "Your invitation?"

Weird.

"Uh…"

The thing slapped its forehead, "Blast. It was too subtle."

"Huh?"

He seemed almost annoyed as he beckoned to another servant waiting farther on.

Alfred stared at the second servant drew near. His mouth gaped at it's huge dragonfly wings. Was he a faerie? A...a really big one? He was carrying an ornate box.

The elf frowned irritably as he opened it and Alfred saw that a pile of three scrolls were resting on a purple silk cushion.

The old elf sighed as he removed the top one, cracked the seal, and unrolled it. He cleared his throat, "A message from his royal highness to America. Our noble...wise…...just….ruler," He inhaled sharply through his nostrils and his face puckered oddly like he swallowed something sour. "Says: America, we summon thee to partake in a series of tasks to ascertain whether you are the hero you _**claim**_ to be. Thou hast already refused our gentler invitations. And this will be the last. Refusal to meet this challenge will result in thy name being recorded in infamy and shame. Thou wilt go down in our history as…" the man closed his eyes and then opened them "...a coward and a fraud."

Alfred stood up straighter-insides bubbling with indignation. Jackass, like it wasn't enough using the royal friggin' WE, he went and flat out insulted him.

To accuse America of cowardice...how _dare_ he even suggest such a thing?! Alfred's teeth gnashed together.

The elf rolled the scroll back up and set it down harshly in the box.

The large faerie latched it shut with a hard THUNK.

They shared a look and then the winged one turned to them, "America." He bobbed his bald head in courtesy.

His gray skin was smoother and his voice higher than the elf's...maybe he was younger. Or maybe different species sounded...different...maybe…

Damn, he should've completed more Magical Creature Lessons.

"There will be three trials, Sir. Task One shall be a feat of Strength. Please follow me."

"Whoa whoa whooooa," Alfred stomped a foot and pointed an accusing finger. "First off, I think we can _all_ agree that I've done all of you a huge favor just by showing up. Your king was gonna throw a hissy fit...wasn't he? And...considering all the crap I've dealt with on account of you. I need...no….I DESERVE a serious show of good faith."

"Amen!" Tex called.

"S-sir?"

Alfred crossed his arms, "You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Your King is on some weird Hunger Games-Fairytale kick, right? Well, if I'm here for his entertainment...I want compensation: I want Arthur's wand returned. Now."

The faerie's pale green eyes sought out the elf's.

The old elf swallowed, "I'm certain, his wand is a most suitable prize should you succeed-"

"Nonononoo," Alfred snapped. "You don't get it. You gotta grease the wheels of this machine if we're gonna have a peaceful transaction. Cuz right now I've got a serious case of OH- _ **HELL**_ -NO. And if we're all gonna move past that and have everybody go home happy tonight-we need to hash some stuff out. I want Arthur's wand as a token for being here at all. This is the age of participation trophies. Cough. It. Up. I had to leave a very extravagant event and an evening with my Dad, and you know what a control freak he is. And I left. And didn't tell him. And he's probably gonna wig out. And I'm gonna have to deal with all that when I get back and...anyways, I'm gonna go through all this crap, and then face more crap, all so that your King could be amused. I need compensation. Like Yesterday. You're gonna deal with it, and you're gonna deal with it. Now."

Eva released a whistle.

"Yup, that's my little brother the hardass business man," Texas gushed.

The elf shook his head and beckoned once more to a dark spot in the hall. Three colorful orbs floated toward him.

Those had to be pixies!

"Let it be known," the elf addressed them. "We must fetch Cadeyrn's item of power from the treasury."

"Yeah, and I'm gonna need that personally delivered to Dad. With a sincere apology."

The elf looked over his shoulder and gave a wry smile, "You've certainly pluck."

"And you can speak regular English!"

The elf pinched the bridge of his nose, "Formality is a dying art…"

Alfred turned to the faerie expectantly.

He smiled a bit embarrassedly, as he shifted the ornate trunk and balanced it one hip to free up one of his hands, "I-I know the circumstances are terrible Brenhin, but...we are all very excited to have you here." He dug around the inside of his robe.

Alfred blinked at the strange admission.

"Would it be a terrible imposition if I asked you to sign this?" He brandished a...a photo.

Alfred blinked at the blank and white photo of...himself in WWI gear. He was climbing into his plane.

"Sherwin," the elf hissed and snatched it away.

"I-I know, but...I promised my sister, I'd try. She was there you know-barely older than-"

The elf waved an angry dismissive hand and looked down his large hooked nose at Alfred, "I'm terribly sorry, this is _**such**_ a spectacle."

What in the...world?

Before he could demand an explanation, he heard a dull roar that grew louder and louder.

The elf frowned, "They already know he's here? Someone told."

At first Alfred's insides twisted, was he going to be ambushed? Except...as they drew nearer...it didn't sound like an angry horde.

There were two goblin guards in front of a large set of double doors.

"This was supposed to be private," the elf growled.

The left guard shrugged a shoulder, "There was no keeping them out, Elwin."

Elwin the elf muttered something under his breath and pushed past them-opening the door a crack to peer in.

"Ugh...that has to be half the kingdom in there."

Alfred shared a puzzled look with his companions.

Another voice spoke from the other side, "O thank Cailleach, he's here. They're going to turn violent and start throwing things, if we delay much longer."

Alfred stood dumbfounded as herald trumpets were played in...his honor?

The huge wooden doors were abruptly opened and the guards on his side of the threshold gestured for him to pass through.

He, Tex, and Eva walked uncertainly into a huge, dimly lit arena. It was like some enclosed, obsidian chiseled Colosseum and from every row of seats-strange mythical creatures cheered and shrieked and whistled-waving small versions of his flag that were usually sold for 4th of July and Memorial Day.

"U.S.A.! U.S.A!" they chanted in unison.

He laughed abruptly and feeling pumped by all the energy, waved to the crowd who reacted with even greater enthusiasm.

He stared at the monstrous forms and faces, the foreign architecture, the creepy green fire torches, the ceiling studded with stalactites and glowing mushrooms and lichens.

Darkly wondrous indeed.

* * *

Alistair stalked the stone corridor, claymore at the ready. The dim green light cast by the torches made for an eerie atmosphere.

He was close. Very close. The badoach was near. His magical signature was all over-the UnSeelie King had made quite a pet out of the creature.

He tensed as he heard footsteps. He gripped his weapon tightly as he picked up the uneven gait approaching.

The slight dragging of one foot.

Good. This ended NOW!

He leapt around the corner and swung his sword!

CLANG!

He blinked dumbly as he stared into green eyes.

"Bloody GIT! It's me!"

Alistair hesitated; was he being charmed with a spell? How in the seven hells could Arthur get in here so quickly? The UnSeelie's territory was mired in dangerous traps.

He spared a quick glance downward to check his flower chain.

No...it was intact.

"A-albion?"

"Rhys was right. You were here," Arthur pushed away-freeing their swords. His brother artfully swung his blade before sliding it home in its sheath.

"H-how...are you here?"

"Elferingewort!" Arthur spat bitterly. "They encircled the whole bloody house!"

Alistair's jaw dropped, "Tell me you canceled the ball."

"I only became aware of the damned ring this hour, when Grym coerced Alfred to come with him," He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. "Threatened the other children."

"Scabby bassa."

"Tex and Eva went too. I hope they're all still together."

Alistair's hand tightened even more on his sword. Damn it all! If he could've just just killed the fucking bodach already, they wouldn't be in this predicament. But the accursed thing kept staying one step ahead of him. He was close to its nest, the shadow it used most while in the UnSeelie Realm. Real close.

"Come here," Arthur called. "Look at this."

Alistair carefully approached his brother (whose voice was dangerously cold) and turned to follow his hard emerald gaze.

Gray eyes widened, "What the...fuck?"

"My thoughts entirely," Arthur hissed.

Plastered against the wall was a collage of photos and newspaper clippings of...America. Photos and headlines from the past few centuries. There was even an assortment of very old watercolors on cracking parchment.

Arthur stared hard at those. They depicted a very, _very_ young Alfred in both native dress and a roughly sewn white gown.

His indigenous garb seemed to consist of a white deerskin loincloth and he was draped with white beads

"Roanoke," Arthur murmured. "White shells."

He also had an abundance of white seashells nestled in his hair...it almost looked like...aye, it was...a mermaid crown.

Alistair risked a look at his brother.

Arthur's exhaled angrily, "They...should've swam over and told me. They-they-all dressed in white. That crown. Knew he was mine...Child of the sea and they didn't-didn't-"

The watercolor sketches were signed and dated by John White.

Still, even that wasn't the worst of it. Oh no, there were mannequins sporting various uniforms and there were two standing at the center of the great, freakish altar…that were particularly upsetting.

One had on Alfred's long lost WWI leather jacket and the appropriate tunic and jodhpurs of the era (Al had whinged for years about losing that jacket and blamed it on them. He often insisted, he only joined the Second Great War to get a replacement).

Alistair slowly approached it, and tugged at the collar of the jacket, and then the shirt.

Green eyes were watching him.

"Uh...yeah, Alfred F. Jones," he reported. Alistair looked down and felt his stomach flop as he noticed that the damn thing even had his nephew's boots and socks...Alistair slowly reached out and felt through the fabric of the trousers.

Arthur flinched at the twang of the footloop shirt stays (Alfred had favored that style during the war).

Arthur was breathing steadily harder and harder and abruptly approached the other at the center-dressed in a full Revolutionary War uniform...that was only missing a hat.

Arthur checked it's collar and choked out, "Alfred F. Kirkland."

With every new detail, his neck hairs stood on end. Not all the photos were clipped or pilfered. Some were snapped from odd, unsettling, UnSeelie angles. Under beds. Partially opened wardrobes. Ceiling vents.

"You know," England's eyes stared into the distance, and his tone grew detached. "He spoke so much...about ghosts and being haunted...I'd check his estate for ghosts and not find them and dismiss it. I didn't check for anything else. I always...shrugged it off...because he'd lost the Sight. And...no...he couldn't See the fae, or Hear them. But they were there and he Sensed it. No wonder he sleeps without a door to his closet. Keeps the light on. That's why the unicorn sleeps there. She's blocking a portal."

"We...we'll go through his house," Alistair assured. "We'll...go through all his estates and seal them up tight."

Arthur tottered further down the hall, paused as he turned to a cavern wall, bent over and threw up.

Alistair came up gingerly-running a hand through his red hair, "Oi, we'll… deal with it. We will."

Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist guard, "...I can't...forgive it."

"I know, they're creepy bastards."

Arthur shook his head, "I...can't…"

Alistair felt his mouth go dry and he stared as his brother straightened. There was a hollow look in his eyes, "They won't leave him be, Alba. The King won't leave him be."

"Albion?"

His blond fringe shadowed his eyes, "I lost him...for a king once. I'm not going to lose him again."

Before Scotland could reply, a blue ribbon was dangled in front of Arthur's nose.

Alistair blinked; Alfred had worn that for his photo shoot. At the time, Arthur hadn't been able to shut up over how well it complimented his eyes.

Arthur's eyes went wide with horror and Alistair knew the bairn had been wearing it tonight.

They both looked up.

Arthur was shaking.

No doubt an hour ago, it had been nicely tied in a big blue bow under Alfred's chin and now it was twisted between the long clawed fingers of Grym who had materialized through a shadow on the tunnel's ceiling.

"Sooo beautiful...sooo young...such a pretty little bairn...such soooooft baby flesh," Grym crooned-his black tongue clicked against his wicked spiny teeth and smacked against his lips. "Pity...his Daddy couldn't protect it…"

Arthur lost his mind.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDD


	65. Chapter 65

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Hetalia_. Or _Jurassic_ _Park_. Or _Captain_ _America_.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Drama. Angst. Rage. Combat. The Wave. Arthur gets...violent. Mathieu gets guidance. Tex and Eva are spectators. Alfred and Alistair have a blast. Reilley's still offstage.

 **SPECIAL WARNING:** VIOLENCE! COMBAT! DISTURBING GRAPHIC IMAGES/IMPLICATIONS! VIOLENCE WITH A CAPITAL V! Ye been warned.

 **AN:** Alrighty, I've got one Midterm Paper done, another one to revise, one halfway through, one to start, and a Linguistic Exam to study for. So much for my Spring Break, it's not relaxing at all. XD Thank you for your reviews and continued interest in this story! Love reading your reactions! It keeps me so stoked! I hope you enjoy! : DDD

 **Chapter 65: S.O.S.**

* * *

Texas scuffed a boot in the black sand of the arena.

He was about to tell Al that it reminded him of some of Hawaii's beaches when he was downright gobsmacked by his brother's expression.

Alfred's eyes were sparkling as he grinned at the crowd and waved.

Tex's mouth went slack and he raised an eyebrow, "Al?"

America flashed a white smile at a creepy pair of gargoyle-things.

"Al?"

"Ya hear that, Tex? I've got groupies. British ones and they're all cheering for me...For me as ME and not just me as America or as an abstract concept..." Alfred murmured dreamily.

"Uh, Al?" Texas readjusted his hat nervously as he looked at a spazzing crowd of fanged weirdoes, "Mission Objective?"

Alfred hastily coughed and cleared his throat, "Right. Yes, take note."

"Uh...I'm out a Post-Its."

"...Take a mental note."

"I'm on it, Lil' Brother."

Alfred ticked off on his fingers, "I will curbstomp these tasks, cuss out their king, find a diner for pie, and pick up a Tide pen for stain removal."

"Hell, yeah!"

"Oh yeah," Eva grumbled. "You two have your priorities straight." She turned to Alfred, "Alfie. There's no need to rush into anythin' I say we wait. Draw it out. Long as possible. And maybe Ar-"

Alfred scrunched his nose, "Nah. I'll get all hungry and grouchy, if I do that. I didn't eat enough today. So the sooner I win, the sooner I get to go chow down."

"You need a bite then?" a great hulking creature that Tex dimly realized had been the voice on the other side of the door, asked.

Holy moly! He was huge! And scary! And the leather armor he wore had metal spikes.

Alfred stared up at the broad shouldered thing with inquisitive eyes, "What are you?"

The thing blinked owlish amber eyes and muttered through a huge jaw whose bottom fangs reached up like a bulldog's, "I beg your pardon?"

Tex waved his hands placatingly, "Nonono-nah, Al, it's fine. I don't think we need to kno-"

"Are you a goblin?" Alfred asked bold as brass. "You're awful BIG."

It shifted a bit, "I-I am a goblinoid being. Usually, I check off the 'Hobgoblin' category when I file me taxes. A bugbear if we're being exact and we're a tad big boned is all-"

"Bugbear," Alfred giggled. "Bug."

"Comes from Bugge."

"Buggy," Alfred snickered.

"Middle English, tadpole. Not that you'd know that. You're jus' an anklebiter," he remarked fondly-giving Alfred a playful poke with a large squared finger. He clapped his hands together and rubbed, "How's this? We start the first task. After, we'll get you something to nibble on?"

"Kay!"

The creepy old elf guy that had led them in, sighed and gave them all an unimpressed look as he crossed his arms.

Out of the corner of his mouth, the bugbear addressed him in low tones, "Elwin. Deal with it. It's happening. You tried. I tried. We gave as many warnings as we could without outright defying orders. He's here. He's here and the least you can do is be pleasant. He's a nice little fellow. Don't you want him to visit again in three millennia? You know, if Cadeyrn doesn't take our heads? I want to be there, so I'm making friends. I'll be able to beg for my life. I'll be able to say: ' _Come now Cadeyrn, do you really wanta hurt Brenhin's new friend?'_ "

Elwin made a disparaging sound and shoved the fairy servant carrying the ornate box forward.

The bugbear removed another scroll from the fairy's box.

Tex frowned and shared a bewildered look with Eva who'd also been eavesdropping. That all made it sound like...like they didn't want Al to be here either. What in Sam Hill was goin' on?!

The fairy guy gestured for Eva and Texas to stand with him at the far side of the arena.

He motioned to a tunnel, and in his high slightly nervous voice he explained, "If you'll enter here please. We'll lower the portcullis once the match begins. It's charmed, so nothing will get through. As Brenhin's guests, we would not dare risk your safety and offend him."

Texas and Eva stared at one another. Well, that was unexpectedly hospitable of them.

There was more trumpeting, and the great goblinoid bugbear moved to the center of the arena. He unrolled the scroll-eyed it, scoffed, rolled it back up and tossed it away, "Hear ye all!"

The crowd cheered and he and Eva were corralled into the tunnel by Elwin and Sherwood.

"Lords! Ladies! Commoners! Elwin!" the bugbear roared.

The elf released an irritated breath as the crowd laughed.

"We have gathered here to witness greatness!" He gestured with a mammoth hand. "Lo and behold! America! Warrior Prince and youngest of his line! Ruler of a vast realm beyond the Atlantic. Known for his unflinching nerve and extraordinary deeds."

Tex couldn't help a chuckle as Alfred choked at being mislabeled as royalty.

Tex could just make out an irritated, "Dude, I'm not-"

But the crowd drowned out his dissenting voice.

"America, Task One is a test of strength. Measure yours now against the fearsome! The formidable! The fierce! Great. Stone. Golem!"

A hush descended.

Elwin spoke a stream of foreign words that could only be swears.

"Gesundheit," Tex offered dryly.

Eva elbowed him and they shuffled closer to the closed portcullis.

The elf was aghast, "What is his highness thinking? That's far too difficult an opponent for such an inexperience magic user."

Well, _**that**_ wasn't a confidence builder...

Thud.

THUD.

 _ **THUD.**_

The arena shook with every footfall.

"I'm gettin' Jurassic Park anxiety," Tex admitted as he cleaned his glasses with the edge of his shirt before putting them back on.

He squinted and saw that at the far side tunnel, opposite of them a huge hunched over figure emerged.

Twice as tall the bugbear and four times as wide.

It straightened. It was mannish in only the loosest meaning; it had two legs, two arms, and a head. But the thing was like an assortment of rough mossy boulders held together by clay, dirt, and magic. And the shape was queer. The forearms were thicker than the biceps. The shins thicker than the thighs. It looked like it had a bucket of stone for a head. One horizontal slat cut across the front revealed glowing eyes.

"Eep," Tex squeaked.

Alfred blinked and glanced over at the bugbear who was standing near Tex and Eva's closed tunnel, "For real? This is my opponent?"

"Indeed. Try to survive," Elwin intoned seriously. "If at any moment, you feel you can't continue. Simply say so and we'll end the-"

"Heh..." Alfred removed his jacket and tossed it to the bugbear. "Be a pal and keep that safe, won't ya?" He cracked his knuckles and smirked as strode brazenly into the center of the ring, "Bring it, Mud Pie!"

Al's fans cheered at his enthusiasm.

The elf shook his head in disbelief, "What is he doing taking it head on? Golem's are resistant to incantations. He's far too young to know a powerful enough spell to do real damage. He should keep his distance. Fire multiple spells and gradually weaken it."

The bugbear nodded and then shrugged.

"If he has trouble, intervene," Elwin told him through the bars.

"I have my orders. It has to be a critical wound for me to-"

"You intervene if he shows any difficulty!"

Tex blinked-surprised that the elf seemed to really care if Alfred sustained an injury. And the creature physically flinched while he watched the stone monster swipe at the young American.

Alfred dodged.

The golem slammed a great fist on the arena floor-making a crater in the sand.

Alfred rolled out of the way as the crowd ooh-ed and gasped anxiously.

The stone monster slammed the ground again and America hopped up onto the fist-running up the connecting limb. Up past the elbow, the shoulder-he cocked his fist back and-

CRASH!

The head shattered like a flower pot and a piece of parchment fluttered out.

It floated onto the ground and went up in a violet sizzle of sparks and smoke.

The remaining body crumbled.

Alfred slid down the resulting pile of rubble and dusted himself off.

He scratched the back of an ear and then rested his hands on his hips.

For a moment there was complete silence, and Texas swallowed nervously as he checked his watch.

Under two minutes…

Damn.

That was probably a really crappy match. Hell, could it even be called a match? Were they all pissed off? Expecting a longer, better round?

Then there came a deafening roar so great he and Eva had to clap their hands over their ears to block the noise.

Whistles and applause and flowers were thrown down onto the sand.

The bugbear whooped and carried Al around on a shoulder-and Alfred held onto a spike for balance as he used his other hand to wave.

As the cheers gradually dwindled, Tex overheard the old elf splutter, "He-he didn't even attempt to do magic against it. He...he just defeated it with brute force!"

"Damn right he did!" Texas hollered as the gate went back up. "Woooooo! Go Al! U.S.A. U.S.A!" Tex sprinted out and led the crowd in another round of chanting. He raced around the perimeter of the arena motioning for them to "do the wave."

* * *

Rhys tipped back his bottle of Tums and the last three powdery tablets landed on his tongue. Thankfully, he had another bottle in his left pocket. He tossed the empty plastic container in a small bin tucked in a corner without breaking stride.

"Mathieu, come," In his other hand, he held Mathieu by the bicep. He'd refused to get dressed back up for the ball and so Rhys had been forced to take him as he was-dressed in a hoodie and loose trousers.

"Let. Go." The teen gritted through clenched teeth as Rhys hauled him down to the ballroom.

Reilley was maintaining order by perpetuating the lie that the EU had sprung a phone conference on Arthur. It was simpler that way. The staff, of course, had been informed but...people tended to panic when told that supernatural events were underway. If something more occurred, they'd come clean.

Rhys had opted for fetching Mathieu-assuming the boy would be relieved to have his punishment cut short.

Earlier, when Rhys had been concerned over his absence as the ball began, Arthur glossed it over. He'd shrugged that they'd had an altercation of sorts: something juvenile and petty supposedly.

When the Canadian resisted joining the party downstairs, Rhys asked why and got a frustrated earful.

Apparently, the lad felt unappreciated, undervalued, and envious to a dangerous degree.

 _Violet eyes narrowed as he hissed, "I always have to be the agreeable one! And the minute I don't back down, I get sent off."_

Hoping to deescalate the situation by showing that Arthur had cared enough about him to insist he be returned to the group, Rhys had explained the true circumstances of why he was bringing Mathieu downstairs. That the UnSeelie's had coerced America into visiting him with threats to the well being of everyone else. The boy surprised him again by being explosively upset at Alfred.

Rhys chewed and swallowed, "This is _**not**_ your brother's fault. He was given an ultimatum tailored to exploit his disposition."

"Well, Alfred shouldn't have gone gallivanting off. He's led Texas and Eva into danger and now Arthur has to go rescue their asses-"

"You're angry at Arthur," Rhys perceived as his Empath senses tingled.

Mathieu blinked, "Huh?"

"You're projecting on Alfred...but your real anger is with Arthur."

Violet eyes swiftly looked away, "N-no...I...I'm just...jealous…because..."

"Oh you _**are**_ jealous," Rhys readily agreed. "But beneath that you're angry...at Arthur for making you feel less than precious."

"...It's...not just that...I..."

Rhys paused and waited patiently for the boy to elaborate.

Mathieu swallowed, "It's just not fair."

Rhys watched him, "That Alfred is the focus of Arthur's attention? Or that you feel as though you lack the ability to command such attention for yourself?"

"..."

Rhys sighed and then looked at the boy with more sympathy, "Have you tried telling Arthur you feel this way?"

The lad shook his head in such a sharp movement that his long hair bounced spastically.

"Well, there's your problem," he said kindly-ignoring the slight barbed feeling of having his own care and concern disregarded in favor of his brother's seemingly more elusive (and therefore prized) affection. "Arthur's as intuitive as a doorstop. You'll need to be clear. Short sentences. Take care to enunciate. That should help you resolve this misunderst-"

Mathieu chewed at his lip before commenting, "Alfred...knows now...where he comes from. His origin. He has a father who...who wants to know him...I...it's hard because Sweden..."

Rhys blinked and his head tilted to the side in bewilderment, "Sweden?"

"...he doesn't act like he wants to know me. And the Vikings that influenced...my...birth. They-they just up and left! And I've been passed around ever since and-all these different foster homes. Tribes. France. England...and..."

Rhys's brows twitched, "I'm...not certain..." That it was Sweden who influenced his birth. Or even Norway for that matter. "I…" Rhys exhaled. No...no this was Canada's quest.

"I see," The Welshman nodded. "This bothers you greatly."

Mathieu nodded and roughly wiped away a tear.

Rhys blinked and straightened-brows lowering, jaw clenching.

"Twmffat," he muttered and gave the back of Mathieu's head a decisive swat.

The boy stared at him dumbfounded.

Rhys didn't usually succumb to physical chastisement to convey his disappointment.

But this was a special case.

"There's no need for that," He remarked severely. "Go talk with Sweden at your earliest convenience. Ask him and you'll know. And should he not be forthcoming, tell me. We'll go together for the second visit."

Goodness. Teenagers.

There was no need for such melodrama when answers to questions like that were easily available. Rhys wouldn't allow him to wallow. Mathieu was far too competent to indulge him that way. It would be an insult.

Rhys then pulled him over to the double doors and pointed at a long table, "There are maple custard tarts and maple cream puffs. Enjoy."

"Eh?"

Rhys then stalked off to the w.c., washed and dried his face, took a few deep breaths, and removed Alfred's invitation out of his pocket.

Arthur had wanted him to study it for clues.

Maybe it was the flickering of the overhead light fixture, but he noticed the capitalization choices of the letter.

BEWARE BRENHIN SEND CADEYRN.

He read it once...twice…

Beware young prince…

Odd for an invitation to be...warning its recipient away…?

He examined the context again and then…

Hazel eyes widened, his stomach flopped, and he hastily texted Reilley, Arthur, and Alistair. He was horribly aware that the latter two may not get his message at all.

 _Alfred's UnSeelie Invite,_

 _is really for Arthur._

 _It's an S. O. S._

* * *

Arthur slashed at the damned bodoach in unrestrained fury. Claws left deep scratches across his armor. The thing laughed at him as it flitted from shadow to shadow around and around until he felt like he was surrounded.

" _Daddy...can I not stay wif you...Pwease?" the babe begged. "Hop and I will be vewy good. Pweaaaaase. I'm fwightened." He rubbed his little nose with the back of his pudgy little hand and sniffled pitifully. "Daddy…"_

Arthur's heart ached and sweat dripped down his neck and back. He gulped in air and gripped his sword tightly.

" _Dude, I know it's 3 am and this sounds mega lame," the young man sighed and rested his head against the doorframe with a thump. Arthur regarded him tiredly over his door's chain lock and frowned at the darkened hallway. "But the power's out, and I swear the chair in my hotel room keeps moving."_

" _Sounds like astigmatism," the Briton scoffed as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "You need a stronger prescription. Listen to some tranquil music, you'll be fine."_

 _Arthur tried to shut the door, but Alfred threw a desperate foot in._

" _Oi, stop that. You'll break the door, you git," Arthur determinedly nudged the foot out and closed the door._

 _He was halfway to bed when he heard another thud that sounded suspiciously like Alfred hitting his head against the door._

 _Poor thing would probably have a dent, he was about to snap at him for it when he froze at what he heard next._

 _Maybe it was the tone that paralyzed him._

 _Maybe it was the brutal honesty._

 _Maybe he was just useless after an all day flight to the World Meeting._

 _But..._

" _Jesus…" Alfred muttered. "Here I am creeped out...and you can't even_ _ **pretend**_ _to care for one freaking second...some gentleman...Thanks..."_

 _When he remembered how to breathe, Arthur hastily padded over and flung open the door-breaking the chain in belated desperation._

 _But the hall was already empty and he hadn't bothered to learn which room Alfred was staying in._

Arthur lunged and grazed the beast before it slipped through another shadow.

Damnation…

…His timing was off...his timing was off...his timing was…

 _He stared at the dark hallway from end to end, but was still too much of a selfish arse to call for him, to ring the staff to connect him with Alfred's suite, or to track him down the old fashioned way by knocking on doors-_

He'd have sensed the UnSeelie harassing him...forced it to leave...

Self-loathing flooded him and his heart pounded like an executioner's drumbeat. No, all he'd done was empty his miniature fridge for a stiff night cap.

The tunnel blurred and he swung again at a figure he spotted out of the corner of his eye.

Green eyes stared in horror as his blade sank through a Revolutionary white and blue military uniform. Right through the heart...

"No..." he rasped.

Right through the heart...

" _There's no way I can shoot you...I can't..."_

" _He regretted not shooting you when he had the chance."_

"Noooo," He moaned as he slumped to his knees with the figure in his arms.

O God, what had he done?!

"It's a fucking mannequin!" Alistair hissed-kicking the head hard enough that it snapped off and rolled away.

Alistair roughly dragged him back up to his feet, jerked the sword out of the dummy's torso, and shoved the hilt back into Arthur's hand.

"Look, I know you're spittin' mad," Scotland groused. "But try aiming at the damn thing! Or stay the hell out of my way."

Arthur's breathing was shaky, he was a wreck. He was a wreck...he was a wreck…

" _Daddy…" Bonnie blue eyes smiled on him-shining with the trust that his parent would safeguard him at all costs._

" _Sooo beautiful...sooo young...such a pretty little bairn...such soooooft baby flesh...Pity...his Daddy couldn't protect it…"_

He dried his streaming eyes on his wrist guard.

Focus, Arthur. Focus! Damn you! Hold together!

"Poor Albion, still the same," Grym cooed. "Even after all these years…"

Wot?

"I've learnt your name, _**Dubhar**_ ," Alistair boasted. "And by the power of my land and magic, bind you through the syllables. Confess! Why are you obsessed with Arthur?"

Startled, Arthur turned and looked at his elder brother who was busy glaring at the ceiling of the tunnel.

The creature twisted and writhed as it resisted the spell, and then sunk into a shadow until only the top of its head and its pale eyes showed. Then it admitted, "...S-s-such a naughty thing, could smell him from afar... Naughty and fearful...Delicious. Child fear so sweet and simple...rising like yeast...The moving of doors, the rocking of chairs, whispers on the wind. Anything could make...Albion...cry…"

Arthur stared. It...knew him as a child?

He looked again at Alistair, but his gray eyes were locked on their enemy.

A child's fear fed a bodach's strength.

"Well, I'm no child now," Arthur snapped.

"...It takes more work to have an adult's fear," it grumbled.

Arthur's jaw dropped. Wot? What?! No, that couldn't be so! It'd mean that...he was making it more powerful.

"O but...the taste of it in the air...mature...fermented... I'd wait for the embers to die and then creep and sit in your chimney…and savor your bad dreams. You...had so many following wars...with _**him**_...I knew...then _**he**_ was special... But your Empire grew and with it your...confidence...and the children in your keeping, trusted you so...with their safety...hardly noticed me…damn you...damn your science..."

"Alright, you've a fixation and a grudge. Now tell us," Alistair pressed. "Is that why you keep harassing Alfred? Because he senses you? Because troubling him gives Arthur fear?"

"...It's...incentive…" it shrugged.

"A bonus?" Alistair guessed.

"...must...obey my King…"

"So your King put you up to all this?" The redhead growled.

"He...found... _ **me**_ …and made it worth my...while..."

"What do you mean?" Arthur muttered breathlessly. For a Fae ruler to deliberately betray him that way, that was grounds for war.

"Knew I already had a way into the houses...Contract: I could eat anyone I wanted after delivering Brenhin. And I want Albion to dread who I choose," It's head lowered and it grinned through spiny teeth, "I want you to lie awake...trembling with the knowledge that I can stalk your nursery _**anytime**_ I want. I can sink my teeth-"

Scotland's claymore abruptly thrust up-piercing the bodoach through the shoulder. As it shrieked, Alistair angled his arms into a fluid rolling motion and brutally ripped the monster from its portal.

"I chased ya outta our roundhouse and I'll kill ya now," Alistair replied coldly. "Ya monologuing bastard."

It scrabbled at Alistair's leg with its remaining clawed hand, until Alistair crushed it under a heavy, merciless foot.

The shadows seemed to reach towards the creature, but Alba's sword glowed and they recoiled.

"Aww," the Scotsman tutted. "Poor bodach, no one told you. Me sword's spelled. It don't leave the flesh of my foe, til _**I**_ say."

Alistair flashed a grin Arthur's way, "Anythin' ya wanna add?"

England's blade came down through its chest. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Up and down. Here. There. Blood spurted and gurgled and splattered. Grym or Dubhar or whatever he went by would never lay eyes let alone a hand or tooth on his babes ever.

"Ah, we're makin' mincemeat of him then," Alistair grinned sharply as removed a dirk from his belt. "Good choice."

* * *

Arthur tried to focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

He carefully folded Alfred's ribbon and tucked it away safe.

He stared at the black blood congealing under his fingernails. He wanted to kill it again. Over and over and over. Until the rage could settle.

There were shuffling footsteps and then a gasp.

The U.K. brothers glared at the far end of the tunnel.

Old Man Lome took in the gruesome scene and rasped, "What have yeh done?!"

Fury ignited in Arthur's belly and he took up his sword once more.

"There's still room in this bag for another head," Alistair gleefully guaranteed.

Lome's eyes focussed on the soiled burlap sack that was...dripping…

With trembling arms, he raised a familiar Captain America knapsack as a peace offering.

Arthur stared at it.

"Your...your item of power resides inside," the thrummy-cap whimpered.

Arthur stared dully at the red, white, and blue design, "..."

"...D-don't you want it, Sir?"

"I want my child."

"I..I see..."

"I want you to pay for what you did to him," Arthur continued.

The creature backed up, "S-so he-he remembered? That's-that's good. The-the-the hex must be breaking-"

"You _**hexed**_ my son."

The elf's lips trembled, "I-I...I know it's terrible, but it's all more complicated than that. Believe me!"

"You!" Arthur hissed and brandished his sword threateningly. "I should believe you? You, who've had every opportunity to come to me before now and waited until this moment-"

"It wasn't all my fault you know. He wished for something abstract. Wishes have to be exact or they spoil. And on top of that all, he got greedy."

"Not helpin' your case," Alistair tutted.

"When it all went wrong, I begged him to go to you," The thrummy-cap blurted. "I told him, I did, I said ' _Go to your Father, throw yehself on his mercy. He might be able to shield you from most of it_.' But then he didn't. He-he went forth but then he came back and thought he could get what he wanted if he was willing to sacrifice more. Tip the scales! Like you can reason with a hex!"

"Arthur," Scotland snatched the knapsack up and shook it.

When Lome tried to slink off, Alistair threw his dirk. It landed in the wall-so close to the thrummy-cap's neck a thin trickle of blood oozed down.

"We're not done with you, yet. And by the laws of wergild, you'll stay where you are. Or we'll be heading to the Seelie Court next and put a price on yer head," the redhead warned.

The creature slid down into a pitiful pile and pulled its feet away from where Grym's blood was spreading along the floor.

Mechanically, Arthur pulled the red zipper and removed his wand and a roll of duct tape that Alfred had packed as well.

With the adhesive tape, he strapped his wand to his sword. It was no Ex Caliber to be sure, but the blade was hale enough to be used this way for a short while before his magic cracked it.

He pointed the tip at Lome, "You know where my boy is, don't you?"

Lome's long nose quivered as he nodded, "He's in the arena."

"The arena…" Arthur repeated-a deluge of bad memories of Rome fell over him.

"Aye sir, three tasks have been set against him. He agreed in exchange that your wand be returned."

The little fool...risking so much for something so slight...

"Take us there," England ordered.

"His Highness-"

"Take us there, or we'll paint this hall with your blood next," Arthur hissed.

"So violent," a new voice remarked. "No wonder the guards fled instead of engaging you two, you taught the recruits that the legends don't do you justice. I heard _you'd_ become a gentleman. I see that's a lie."

"And who the fuck are you, since we're all getting acquainted?" Alistair sneered.

The old elf straightened himself up, "Elwin, advisor to his highness. Leader of the UnSeelie Witan."

Arthur's head bowed as his breathing grew more erratic. They were all wasting his time, "I don't bloody care who you are. I've come for my son."

"A reasonable request, but things are in motion now and-"

"No, _**you**_ understand," Alistair drawled as he came over to stand beside Arthur. "It ain't a request."

The advisor scoffed and Arthur's patience broke.

His hand shot out and grabbed the old fae by the throat and slammed him against the tunnel wall, "You've been stalking him his whole life and you expect me to let that stand!?"

"No," the creature wheezed. "Not-not his whole-"

"I saw those pictures!" England howled and he raised the fae up until his feet dangled. "You knew! You knew him even as Roanoke!"

"We...knew….about Roanoke...yes."

"And you never saw fit to tell me!" He shook the elf violently.

"..."

Alistair leaned against the wall nonchalantly as he cleaned his claymore with a rag, "Arthur ease up, or he'll die and we won't learn anythin.' Hear what he has to say... _Then_ we can kill him."

Lome trembled harder.

"We thought he died…" Elwin choked as his hands pulled weakly at Arthur's one handed grip. "Mermaids...brought him up after that horrid fall. Stayed with him for three days. He didn't...come back. They left. Or...well, they didn't see it. Assumed the land reclaimed him. Would've...just...angered...you...to know...It took...us a long while before we knew Roanoke and America were the same...And it's only because his majesty-"

"His _**majesty**_ ," Arthur growled.

The old fae spoke rapidly in a high breathless whisper, "You don't understand. After that fateful Beltane's Day. I didn't think he'd recover. His spirit was so broken. He lost so much. Then we saw America. We saw him. His Highness was so moved. America's plane was-was ruined. He fell. P-p-parachute. Landed in the trees. Ended up going the same direction as us. Watched him survive. Watched him fight. Watched him. You must understand. You must. He needed someone to believe in. He chose America. He never gave up. Learning about America. So we started researching him then-"

"And that makes it alright to stalk him?" Alba laughed in incredulity.

"...he couldn't see or hear. So he wasn't truly bothered."

Alba set his sword to rest against the elf's neck, "Wrong answer."

Still, the old elf had a stiff upper lip, "You. You never...Knew...about those paintings of Ro-Ro-roanoke?"

"No," Arthur's lip curled. "America's government has hidden much from me-"

Elwin snickered weakly, "T-try... _ **your**_ government."

"Wot?"

"K-kept in a vault...sealed. _**She**_ knew…E-eliz-a-"

Alba's mouth opened in shock and he leaned in curiously.

Arthur abruptly let go and staggered backward-shocked by the outrageous claim

The elf landed awkwardly on his feet and coughed as he rubbed at his bruised throat.

"Liar," Arthur breathed-unwilling to entertain such thoughts.

"Where do...you think...we got those?" the elf insisted. "Cadeyrn...your child didn't have a government then."

Green eyes stared around the tunnel, looking for something, anything, to stabilize himself with, but even Alba looked shocked.

Arthur shook his head, "No...no they wouldn't've…"

"They did, Sir."

"Beth wouldn't have allowed it!" He insisted.

"She ordered it."

"Liar! How dare you! She would never! Never!" England spat.

 _He stood out on the stone balcony, staring out at the sea. His desire to sail grew more and more urgent. The time was right. Spring. The smell of hardy daffodils filled the air. The cries of gulls and the cries of babes from the village floated and mingled and he buried his face in his arms._

 _She rested a pale hand on his shoulder and guided him back in. She'd arranged another play for them...to divert them from all their many reasons of unhappiness._

"She knew how much I longed for a child," he mumbled.

 _Alcohol loosened his lips and he told her more than she likely wanted to know._

But there was something about the hopelessness of the Dark Ages…of the Black Death that ran rampant through his lands that triggered it. So much death. So many lost legacies as entire families went up in smoke-burning in the village square. Would anyone survive? Would he? Could he remain a nation, if no one was left at the end?

The sores festered and his skin broke and bled and blackened and rotted.

He healed. The strong survived. But what happened couldn't be undone. The fear lasted. For days, for weeks, for years.

Everything was changed. Technology had to advance for there weren't enough bodies to complete the tasks left behind.

Worse, all the children were changed. Memories of horror lurked in their darkened eyes and he'd never see it lifted. Only the distance of time, of several generations, would see it stamped out.

He longed for something new, something innocent, untouched by the tragedy. Someone he could protect and nurture who wouldn't die on him in a matter of seasons or illnesses.

Mother had four children. Surely, he could have one. But no amount of Church service, or collecting of talismans, did anything. No child appeared on his land-tugging at his magic. The only pull he felt was an interest to explore the New World and he was so damned certain it was rivalry at work because it rankled him to hear Portugal and Spain claiming they were Masters of the Sea.

Idiot.

"Beth..."

Idiot.

"She-she knew...How much I-I wanted-" Reflexively, he dropped his sword with a CLANG! and cradled his arms-imagining a small Roanoke waiting devotedly for his Water-Father on the shore-knowing the babe would fit in the crook of his elbow perfectly.

What he would've given to have entered his child's life sooner…

There was so much he could've done...could've prevented...could've shielded him from...

"Yes," Elwin muttered bitterly. "She knew exactly how much. She knew fatherhood was one of the few things that would pry you from her side and those were trying years for her, weren't they? She wouldn't risk losing you to anyone."

And a few decades later, Oliver Cromwell practically hurled him across the Atlantic to colonize...to explore the coast...to search….to search for Roanoke...America...

Bloody hell...they all knew…

They knew _then_...which meant they knew _later_ …

And...and they sent England out to wage war against America...personally.

* * *

Read & Review Please! : DDD


	66. Chapter 66

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Perseus. Or Greensleeves. Or the Monkey's Paw.

 **Warning:** Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Tiny mention of Azeban the Raccoon Trickster. Drama. Angst. Action. Aliases of Morgan le Fay: Morgan le Faye, Morgen, Morgaine, Morgain, Morgana, Morganna, Morgant, Morgane, Morgne, Morge, Morgue, etc.

 **Special Warning:** VIOLENCE. DISTURBING IMAGES/IMPLICATIONS.

 **Grammar Note:** To the Grammar Concerned, one chap with proper em dashes just for you. If you want backstory: it keeps transforming my Google Doc en dashes into hyphens when I copy and paste work to the site (and Google Doc em dashes are a pain to insert). Once it's in my Doc Manager I can go back through and manually paste an em dash in and it'll stay (Control V, Control V, Control V, etc) or I can use Microsoft Word before I upload to hunt them all down but...now you're probably wondering: If I _know_ it does that, why don't I pull out all the stops to correct it? Because...tch 42. Perhaps, I'll do some quality control later when I'm patient, but...eh.

 **AN:** Three Papers down. One to write and an Exam to study for! (And then all Papers to revise. I think I'm gonna make it XD) Thank you so much for your reviews! You've likely inferred that the end draws near, and I don't want you feeling wholly unprepared. It's been a blast! Woo! Wow, this was a long one XD but I'm pleased with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoyed the ride.

 **Chapter** **66: Heroic**

* * *

Alfred held a roasted chicken leg in each hand and tucked in with zeal as his stomach rumbled.

He'd been so nervous earlier at the ball about filling up on appetizers (or worse hogging them) he'd abstained from the goodies and was banking on the multi-course dinner.

He'd also figured that if he kept his suit clean up until that point, it'd be less embarrassing if he dropped something on himself then. Cuz everybody would be distracted sitting down with their own plate rather than standing and scrutinizing him from head to toe.

Apparently, him and Dad both sporting Victorian-esque suits had caused a stir. Which sucked...he hadn't even noticed that...Alfred just thought they'd both looked **_good_**.

This was way better. Eating here was...better. And they got to eat Picnic Style!

At a far side of the arena, near the entrance, the UnSeelies had put down a roll of canvas and set fur throws and pillows over it. For a moment, he'd wondered how they knew he liked that...but shrugged it off. It was probably part of the culture. Once Alfred and his "guests" were seated. Servers brought them food on great wood hewn platters.

"Is everything to your liking?" Sherwood asked, wings fluttering a bit nervously.

"Iss _really_ good," Alfred complimented around mouthfuls as he alternated between the legs.

He was just too hungry for manners to be an issue and none of them seemed offended. Plus, the Bugbear chowing down with them, didn't even chew with his mouth closed. He'd nonchalantly read the scroll on the next task and then threw it over his shoulder. Nobody even reprimanded him for littering.

America would've gotten such a fine if he did that. And if England learned about it...oi...

Things were just more chill here. That was cool with him.

"And don't worry, Sir," Sherwood continued. "None of it's spelled. We were very firm with the cooks on that."

"Yeah, okay, thanks." Whatever that meant. Maybe it was like, connected to being weirdly spiced or...fairy kosher...or something.

Ya know, all things considered he was feeling pretty stoked. If he'd known it would've been like this, he'd have come over sooner. Geez, trust Dad to exacerbate his 'stranger danger' by feeding him creepy propaganda.

England and France did that during the Great Wars too. America would never learn.

It was kinda weird being fanned with giant harpy feathers though...ya know that were...connected to a harpy. She winked when she caught him staring. It was like he was a beloved American Gladiator Glam Movie Star...who did his own stunts.

It wasn't terrible...just a little weird...

Texas offered a platter of chicken wings to Eva.

"Not in this dress," Eva muttered. "I'll drip sauce on it, and it'll go in the bin."

"Nah, you eat. Al can take on the stains."

Alfred nodded vigorous, "I'm like...a demigod of the laundromat realm."

"He really is," Tex agreed. "I mean, everybody and their gram knows that Al can kick ass. What they don't know, is he's been kicking ass on a budget for years."

"Seriously," Alfred chewed and swallowed. "Do you know how tough hero-ing is on clothes? Lemme tell ya: Brutal. Popping seams, losing buttons, tearing at joints, and the stains. Dude. Full stop. The. Stains."

The Bugbear drank deep from a tankard and then belched.

Alfred turned to look at him and slurped at his own drink, "So…" he pointed. "Those dudes with the sticks-"

"Mages," The Bugbear nodded.

"Those Mage-Dudes...What are they doing?"

"Setting up for the next task."

Great green glowing lines appeared on the dark sand and from out of the design grew tall stone walls.

"Oho, litterbox archaeology and construction...Hope it's _clean_ ," Alfred snickered.

The Bugbear coughed and tried to hide a smile.

Blue eyes narrowed, sizing it up. It was a roofless labyrinth.

Alfred wiped his hands on a cloth napkin.

"So...I have to get from this end to the finish on the other side? Right?"

"Correct!"

Alfred smirked, "Perfect."

The Bugbear stared, "Y-you're ready, now?"

"Yup, I was born ready!"

The creature hastily stood up and motioned for the servants to clean up.

"Nah dude, leave it. I might want a little more after."

The fae blinked.

"Trust me, this'll be a cinch," he grinned and flashed an 'OK' sign.

"W-w-wait a minute!" Eva tried to intervene. "Alfie, just wait. I got WiFi! Gimme a sec to text Artie! You don't hafta do anything! We just gotta wait-tha's all!"

"Second Task!" Alfred crowed.

The Goblin shrugged and turned to the crowd who'd used the break to fetch concessions.

"One and ALLLLLL! Our Hero has proven his STRENGTH and now eagerly awaits his next task! BEHOLD! A TRIAL OF MIND." He pointed at the small American. "Test your cunning and see if you can find your way from start to finish without going astraaay! HERO READY?"

"HERO READY!" Alfred shrieked against the thundering applause.

"Then GOOOO!"

The trumpeters hurried out, costumes askew and blasted their horns a bit belatedly.

Alfred raced toward the entrance.

He flexed his fingers to crack the knuckles. He lined himself up just within the maze and studied the wall for small holds. He then straddled the edge and began hefting himself up until he reached the top.

Time to play balance beam. It always irritated other nations when he played this at World Meetings on the street curbs, but look who was laughing now?! It was training!

He carefully stood up and ran around the perimeter when possible. He threw himself forward when necessary—leaping the distances and hopping over quite a few nasty maze traps.

Spikes here. Beasts there. What looked suspiciously like man-sized bear traps.

When he came up on the Finish Line, he twirled on the stone wall leading up to it and made an elaborate bow before jumping off into a backward half-twist. Even Russia would've had to give him a fair score.

The crowd was stunned and then there was applause.

The Bugbear's mouth was hanging open as he plodded over, "Uh...I dunno if...if that counts."

"What isn't expressly forbidden is allowed," Alfred insisted.

The goblinoid's mouth began to pull up in a smile, "Well ya certainly think like one o' us, lemme get a second opinion, alright?"

He motioned for a mage to come over, "Whaddya think? I said, _'Get from one end to the other.'_ It's what the scroll says too. It didn't actually say _**'through**_ ' it. And it's a test of the mind...and his mind was devious. A trait I think we can all commend. Soooooo...I'm saying it's good."

"Yes, fine. Do as you wish," the mage muttered irritably.

The larger goblin frowned, "Wha's got your knickers in a twist?"

"Elwin went to investigate that breach? He's not back."

"Mmhmm?"

"You know who it was. We all know who it was: Cadeyrn and Gaisgeach have infiltrated the kingdom. They're below in the tunnels as we speak and making their way here. We'll need to evacuate and soon."

Alfred perked up. A security issue? Was that part of his final task?

The Bugbear gulped and noticed Alfred watching and gave a weak smile and a thumbs up, "Task 2, completed."

Alfred pumped a fist in the air, "YAY!"

"What are you cheering for!?" Came Eva's indignant voice. "Ya just flat out cheated!"

Alfred's cheeks puffed, hey...she'd just been against him competing at all a couple minutes ago.

He crossed his arms sullenly as he made his way over to her and his brother—kicking sand as he went, "Nuh-uh! Tex back me up!"

"It's called _Winnin' Without Scruples_!" Tex explained.

"Yeah!"

* * *

Arthur struggled to breathe.

The treachery...

The overwhelming sense of betrayal burrowed through his soul—tainting memories as it went.

He thought of all the private and public dinners, all the plays, all the war room meetings, all the effort that went into remembering each of his rulers' likes and dislikes. All the memorization he endeavored to employ so that he'd never stumble over the names of relatives and newly arrived spouses and children and then their children's children's names—taking care to congratulate with sincerity each and every new addition.

All the nights he spent staring at shadows listening to night owls and chilly breezes rattling his windows. Closing his eyes when his eyelids finally became too heavy to keep open.

There could've been a cradle in his room.

Sweet babbling could've filled the silence. Flickers of movement as tiny feet and fists rebelled against swaddling, could've held his gaze.

The crib would've stood right beside the bed. So he could reach a gentle hand in to caress away whimpers or elicit happy giggles.

He'd have taken delight in feeling the thrum of a young pulse, the lifebeat of the precious little heart he'd made.

And when the babe suckled at his fingers, he'd have called the wet nurse in. His child wouldn't have had to depend on charity from those who viewed him with disdain.

Arthur would have seen to it that all his needs were met.

Alfred would never need wonder if he was wanted; He'd have known it all his life.

An angry breath hissed between Arthur's teeth.

He would've been overjoyed to hear his child's first words, would've loved to have been the hands guiding him as he learned to walk, would've happily played simple games and sung silly songs and cuddled away his first hurts.

Stolen from him.

A million priceless moments. No...more than that...stolen from him…

His blood boiled.

"I suspect they wanted to preserve you as a hardened warrior," Elwin theorized—fingers still stroking the abused flesh of his throat.

The air around England crackled with angry magic.

"Oh yes, because I'm so _**soft**_ , now," He snarled. "I want my child returned. Lead me to him or suffer my wrath."

Elwin swallowed, winced, and nodded.

As they made their way through the tunnels, they began spotting yellow Post-It Notes dotting the walls.

Alistair made a habit of collecting them and snickering as he read them, "God, Tex is such a numpty...but the breadcrumbs were a good idea."

He chuckled as he offered the wad of notes to Arthur.

The Briton flipped through several of them before handing them back.

All prattle:

 _Hey Art,_

 _Eva said you'd be_

 _Coming._

 _Hey Art,_

 _Al's bummed Grym_

 _nicked his tie._

 _We gotta replace it stat!_

 _Hey Art,_

 _Why do you make such_

 _boring movies?_

Lome had his arms wrapped around himself as he trudged beside them.

The thrummy-cap sighed and mumbled, "He wanted to forget Spring. But he didn't mean Spring of 1814. He meant it...metaphorical-like...ya know...ya know that magic doesn't interpret that sort of stuff well. And even then, he broke the rules. I told him, I says, as we made the contract: _'Think o' nuthin' sides yer wish. Sides that one wish.'_ And he was doin' good ya know and then...his mind flooded. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be great. He wanted to be glorious. He wanted a heart made impervious. He wanted to forget. And that forgetting wish was different than the first one. It spanned from the war to you lot to himself."

Arthur frowned. His child wished to forget…

His heart twisted.

Wanted to be great and glorious...a heart made impervious...wanted to forget Spring…

Thick eyebrows furrowed...wanted to forget Spring…

Was that the reason it was missing from his mental plane?

Spring really was the literal hostage of the hex because he'd wished it gone?

But all those other wishes, God, they hurt to hear.

"We tried to reason with him. Me and this, shape shifting raccoon thing, Aze-something or other. We tried to reason with him, but he was beyond reasoning with!" Lome exclaimed miserably. "If I coulda removed the hex, I'da done so. Ya gotta believe me. Ya gotta have pity."

"Tell me why you waited," Arthur asked, his voice deceptively soft...almost amiable. "And I'll decide how much pity you've merited."

"..."

He thought of a long host of rulers who'd known of his poor Roanoke and said nothing. Who let him be swept into shadows like a shameful secret. Let him think he was unwanted...illegitimate...alone...

Green eyes narrowed into slits, "Tell me why you saw fit to look me in the eye knowing you've done my child a great wrong. And you held your silence."

"...Tha-tha's no fair!" It cried. It flung its arm to point behind him. "You saw what you did! That've been me! If I'd come to your castle whilst you were still furious, whilst Bonaparte was still fighting you. You'd have taken your frustrations out on me!"

"You agreed to grant his wish!" Arthur snapped. "When you can only hex! Why!?"

"I thought I was bein' patriotic! We were at war! He was an American! One with some Sight! Could've given ya trouble. Even with eyes that were bad. He couldn't see me well, or figure out what I was! Didn't know why he shouldn't've been asking me at all! I thought I'd have a little fun. I was stupid! I realized he was yours after! After! I already agreed to the wish! And even then I thought...ah well, it'll just be a wee hex. He was a nation. You nations shake them off. A rap on the knuckles. And no more than what he deserved. I had no way of knowing! Foresight ain't a gift o' mine. I couldn't know. And then it all went wrong! Have mercy, Sir."

Mercy…

Heh, expected mercy from him...heh…

And what mercy had Arthur received…?

His phone vibrated.

He was surprised to find he'd received several texts from Eva. There was just no way of knowing how human technology would react in magical settings. Sometimes it worked. Usually, it didn't. He wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth.

His eyes scanned the content and sent back: _I'm Here_.

* * *

"-test of CHARACTER!" the Bugbear announced. "The Third and Final Task: Morganna's Mirror."

He finished the last bit in a hushed voice and the crowd gasped.

It was an imposing twelve foot pane with a creepy ornate frame. The top edge of the frame had the upper half of a skeletal angel affixed to it...and if it was a carving...it was a hell of a carving...

Alfred shivered.

The wings reached to the ground and kept the mirror standing. The skull though...dude...from its open jaws came a spider web of metalwork that draped the mirror's sides like barbed wire theatre drapes.

The Bugbear swallowed nervously as he hastily shuffled away. He acted like he didn't want to even be in the same vicinity.

"Do I...clean it?" Alfred asked, eyeing the dust and grime on its neglected form.

"Y-you're tasked with looking within," the Bugbear clarified while he hightailed it outta there.

"That's it?!"

Dude. That sounded hecka lame. Ah well, the sooner he wrapped this up, the sooner he could return to Dad's Party. Maybe there'd still be cake? Maybe he'd play _Greensleeves_ for Arthur on his violin as a Sorry-For-Ditching-You-For-Most-Of-The-Evening-Don't-Be-Mad?

He strode up to the mirror and planted his feet.

A creepy shine traveled over the black glass and he gasped when his reflection smirked and moved independently of him.

What the hell?!

Then the image grew. The arms and legs lengthened, the breadth of the shoulders grew, the waist slimmed and he was staring at his 1776 self.

Full Revolution Regalia...and he was sixteen and full of cocky certainty that all would go right. He'd win his people's independence, his nation's sovereignty, his father's respect.

He was great and golden and glorious.

His reflection smiled and he seemed like a perfect metaphor for all that was lost.

Alfred rested a hand against the ice cold glass.

The reflection indulged him by mimicking.

The other him's hand was far bigger. The fingers extended far beyond his. Strong hands that could handle a musket. Could fight for what he believed.

He gazed over the double again. Envy made his throat close up.

No shadows in or under those bonnie blues.

Those shoulders were straight and strong.

Unbroken...

 _ **That**_ was the shape of a hero.

He felt his eyes fill.

He blinked and a tear rolled down. And then another.

Yes.

He'd lost that.

Piece by piece.

Until he was reduced to—He stared at his small spread fingers—This.

But...

If he couldn't be a hero as he was...if there was a standard form heroes came in...then...when he spoke to classrooms of kids touring the White House…

Their faces so earnest, their spirits so full of potential…

When he smiled and read short picture books as he stood beside officers and firefighters and generals and insisted that every one of them could be a hero someday…

If they wanted…

They could be anything they wanted...with effort. But what if they didn't grow strong and tall? What if they'd never run a six minute mile or lift double their body weight? What if their lungs or their hearts or their bones couldn't hack it?

Was he lying?

Yes.

Was he a liar?

Maybe.

Was he a liar?

Yes.

Was he a liar?

NO.

The hand he had on the glass, clenched into a fist.

No, there were children who called 911, performed CPR, fought off burglars, stood up to bullies, pushed back against peer pressure...

Weren't they heroes?! Despite their size?! In spite of their age?!

Joggers, bus drivers, passersby on bridges and roofs, who talked people out of jumping. Convinced them to hold on!

Weren't they heroes? In suits? In sweats? In tennis shoes or heels or flipflops? In every size and measurement that retail stores and warehouses ordered in bulk?

Of course...

Anyone. _**Anyone**_ could be a hero.

His double wasn't smiling anymore. His reflection's eye began to bleed and soon the flesh melted off half of his face and it hung in gooey tendrils revealing sinew.

He flinched at how ugly he'd been.

There was a reason he'd covered all his mirrors while he was recovering.

The reflection's hand still pressed against his was now missing fingers.

So useless...

His knees wavered.

No. He wouldn't let it force him to his knees!

He sucked in a harsh breath and steeled himself.

No.

He stared back at it determinedly.

Yes. It wounded him. To have been brought so low. His vanity still ached just for the crowd to witness this image of wretchedness now. And it hurt him to acknowledge it existed.

The antithesis of heroism…

Wallowing in self-pity and rage and pain and betrayal and hopelessness and shattered dreams and bruised pride…

Hideous. Inside and Out. Alone. Unwanted. No...Rejected…

But…

His breaths stuttered and he swallowed hard.

He'd learned from it. Found a strength deep down that not even _**he'd**_ known about. That place you turn to when you can't turn to anyone at all.

In.

You turn in and you find what's still salvageable and you say: ' _Hey, there's still something good in here_.' And you set in the light.

He released a pained breath.

He survived it. And maybe he hadn't done it gracefully...but he did it. Surely, that was something to be proud of?

The reflection shrunk and he was staring at younger version of himself. One that to stand on tiptoes to keep their hands connected.

The failure: Roanoke.

He glared dispassionately at the colony who'd failed so miserably...he couldn't even freaking save himself!

The child struggled to keep his balance on frostbitten toes and pursed his blue tinged lips.

Pathetic…

The eyes grew shadowed until they seemed like dark, hollow sockets and part of the head collapsed in.

What? Was that supposed to move him?!

He'd failed! He'd freaking failed! Cuz he was incompetent and weak! Even after getting a magical power boost, he squandered his opportunity and botched everything.

Did someone like that deserve forgiveness?

Alfred's shoulders shook.

Cuz he tried…?

Cuz he _did_ try...even if it didn't work out...he did try…

Could you fail...and still be a hero?

He thought hard about Roanoke and what he wanted out of life...

Could you have such small dreams and ambitions and be considered visionary?

He felt a separate presence press in—all warm and protective and familiar and-

Dad. _.._

He must've sensed him getting all wound up.

He reached back and immediately felt Arthur respond.

So warm...

Funny, he hadn't even realized how cold he'd gotten.

He looked over the mirror. There were pockets of ice in its ornate frame.

His hand's nails had all turned purple and his breath was misting.

Whoa, not good.

His anxiety must've leaked through because...

 _...Hold on…_

He heard it as clearly as if his Dad had been right next to him.

Alfred blinked.

His old man was worried about him…

He felt his stomach flop.

Even after all the crap he kept putting him through...Dad _**still**_ came...answered the 'stupid-a.m.-come-get-me-please' call...still worried about him...

Could you leave someone crying in the rain and still be gallant?

 _...Hold on...I'm coming...I'm almost there!_

Loved him…

Dad…

Tex…

...loved him...

Could loving someone no matter what…

...seeing the good in them...forgiving the bad...be heroic?

It seemed like a small thing...

Just a decision.

Did heroism have to be big? Did it have to be showy? Did it have to be watched and recorded? Did it need to be so great that it went down in songs and legends?

Alfred stared at his ruined reflection.

America wasn't perfect. Alfred wasn't perfect. Never would be. But wasn't that alright?

If you had to be _**perfect**_ to be loved...and you couldn't just be yourself...if you weren't enough...then it wasn't really love, was it?

And he deserved to be loved.

CRACK!

He gasped and saw himself from multiple angles in the fractured glass: pale and shivery with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose.

He retracted his hand.

BAM! He jumped. There was some kind of explosion behind him, but he didn't dare turn and look when the mirror was the more immediate threat.

The whole thing seemed to be vibrating ominously which made the teeth of the skull on the frame chatter creepily.

"Eep."

CRICK-CRICK-CRACK!

Alfred took a step back. Then another.

CRACK!

Great fissures spider-webbed across the glass and then the mirror shattered into a violent shower of pieces.

Alfred hastily covered his face with his arms and stumbled back into something firm. What the?

He risked a look up and found himself gazing into solemn, dark green eyes.

"D-daddy?" he mumbled. He shook his head to clear it. There was more to worry about than a hellish scolding, "Dad, be careful! This mirror's super evil and I don't want you to get hurt and-"

He looked over his shoulder and noticed all the pieces were hovering in midair.

"Whoa."

He noticed then that Arthur was holding a sword out and his wand was tied to it. Both objects were glowing a soft gold color.

"...well _**that's**_ a neat trick…"

Arthur ended the spell and the glass fell harmlessly straight down. He then leaned over and deftly picked Alfred up.

The mirror then tipped over with a groan and split in half. It smoked and it's weight sunk it several inches in the sand.

"I won!" Alfred gasped. "I beat it!"

He looked up at the stands, but they were empty.

"Where...where did everybody go?"

Arthur set him in on his hip, but there was something rigid in the action, stiff in the hold, unsettling in the sour look.

Alfred tried to change gears and threw in a little flattery for good measure, "...wow...you're in armor! Gah! You look so cool! Noble! Dashing! Heroic!"

And he did! It was super neat! At the edge of his memory he seemed to recall daydreaming about Arthur in the Medieval Era.

He waited for Arthur to turn red, rebuff it, smile, and then preen.

Usually, his old man adored praise—particularly when it was about his physical person. Alfred kind of suspected he didn't get it a lot. How could he? Getting compliments (that weren't backhanded) from Brits was like pulling teeth.

"Gawain's got nothing on you!"

Arthur's hard expression remained and he turned on his heel and strode away—arms tightening.

Blue eyes widened as they took in that the entrance to the arena was totally annihilated. The portcullis gate was in a bazillion twisted pieces.

Arthur paid it all no mind. He kicked larger pieces out of his way and crushed smaller bits underfoot.

Alfred gulped, "H-hey, w-wait, all my fans are here somewhere. And I completed my tasks! I...I gotta sign autographs and stuff. Dude. Dad, this is a golden opportunity. I'm like...a celebrity here. Let's cash in and we'll turn a quick buck."

Arthur continued moving as if he didn't hear him.

"You were probably in the tunnels during the tasks...guess you were the security breach, huh? Heh...but...tunnels are echo-y. Did-did you hear 'em all chanting my name? That was pretty cool. Ya had to be an itsy bit impressed. You were all," Alfred frowned heavily and put on an affected British accent " ' _The UnSeelies are most unsuitable. Dangerous, indeed. Wot Wot.'_ But...you were...less right," Because England hated to be flat out told he was wrong. "They...they are dangerous...just like you said. But they really _**do**_ like me."

Dark green eyes zeroed in on him with such intensity that Alfred shuddered a bit.

"Kay, so...you're kinda...ticked off. I get it. I do. I'm sorry I worried you...that I...scared you...But I-I totally had it, just like I said!"

"... _Don't freak...I got this_ …"

Alfred swallowed a bit nervously at the dark tone his father used as he bit out the words Alfred had sent a while ago, "Y-yeah. And I did really good. Well, up until that last bit there, when you stepped in. I-I-I'd have figured something out, but-not that I'm ungrateful. I mean I DID defeat the mirror _**before**_ you entered the ring. So technically I shouldn't be disqualified."

Scotland, Texas, and Eva were waiting in the tunnel. Geez, how long had he been battling the mirror?

Didn't even freaking notice everybody leave…

Tex grinned and waved and gave two thumbs up.

It gave him a burst of confidence, "And I see ya got your wand back? I-I negotiated for it and-and-and-"

The hard green eyes were back on him—coldly scrutinizing him.

Alfred couldn't help it. His bottom lip trembled and he slammed a frustrated fist against Arthur's breastplate, "Dammit Father...can't...can't you be a _**teensy**_ bit proud? Didn't I do a good job?"

Arthur paused.

Alfred sniffled and angrily looked down and then stared as he watched the sword tip of Arthur's blade sink into the stone like butter.

With his now free hand, Arthur gently thumbed away the tears and gruffly told him, "I love you so. I'm always proud."

But it felt like a copout because, it wasn't an acknowledgement of how awesome he could be when he threw himself into something wholeheartedly!

Arthur nuzzled their noses affectionately, "Let's go home now, my Sweetling."

And then Alfred noticed great scratches in his Dad's armor and the red and black blood splattered here and there.

"W-what happened to you?" He squawked. His fingers traced the grooves, "Are you okay? Did someone attack you?"

His forehead was kissed.

"Everything's going to be alright, love. Let's go home now," The Briton smiled.

His eyes crinkled and the green flame of a nearby torch really made them shine.

Alfred's faced heated up as he immediately felt a really gooshy, B-movie cheesy warmth spread through him. Like a mozzarella stick rupturing in a convection oven.

"K-kay!"

Arthur's hold relaxed and Alfred cuddled into it. Well, as best as he could. Breastplates were hard and kinda cold and he was about to ask if Arthur could take it off when—

"No! Your Grace! Wait! Nooo!" Elwin cried.

Arthur's lips curled back to reveal clenched teeth and his nose wrinkled.

He brusquely walked over to Eva and deposited Alfred into her arms, "Hold him."

He then stalked back over to his sword and pulled it free—brandishing it with a deadly flourish.

Alfred blinked dumbly.

Eva had goosebumps and she was breathing too fast.

Alfred looked over his shoulder and his jaw dropped, "Hey! _**That's**_ the UnSeelie King?! He's just a kid!"

He was, maybe a head taller than Alfred, with large pointed ears, and dark hair, and insectoid wings. He wore silver robes and a strange tall crown that looked like tree roots going the wrong direction.

"Eva," Alistair barked and nodded at Alfred. "Get him outta here."

"Hold the phone, you can't just boss us around-" Alfred's gaze drifted toward the burlap sack in his uncle's grip.

Drip.

"Dude, I'm gettin' mega Perseus vibes from that. What the heck? Are you trying to scare me? It's not Halloween. That's not allowed!"

"Lassie. Go."

The woman slowly followed orders and backed away from the action.

"W-what? No, What're you-hey!"

"Alfie…" she mumbled. "Alfie, we don't wanna see this."

"I beg you, Sir," Elwin pleaded desperately. "Be angry with me. I failed in my duties to keep him in check. Punish _**me**_."

The blade was dragged along the stone floor for threatening effect. Which just...wasn't like England at all.

Alfred wriggled out of Eva's hold, dodged his Uncle Al's hands, and raced toward Arthur.

His dad didn't react right when Alfred glomped his leg.

"W-whatcha doing?" Alfred was a bit embarrassed that the words came out so meek.

Arthur knelt suddenly and pulled Alfred into a crushing one-armed hug.

To lessen the awkward position, Alfred freed his arms and wrapped them around Arthur's neck. One, it'd keep them from cramping, two, it seemed to calm Arthur down a bit.

Arthur exhaled heavily, "I just want you to be safe."

"I..I know."

Arthur rested his head on Alfred's shoulder and told him in a wounded voice, "I wouldn't let _**anyone**_ keep us apart."

"So let's not start now," Alfred forced cheeriness into his voice. "Daddy, c'mon, c'mon, let's go home...like you said. We'll finish up the Ball and-and-and we'll have chocolates and cake. And we'll change into our comfy clothes and watch T.V. til there's just D- movies with puppet creatures from Outer Space Space Spaaaaace. I've realized that _**that's**_ our thing. You sew with Olivia, and you read with Mattie and Kaoru and you share sports with the others. But you and me are couch potatoes! I like that. Let's get back to that."

Arthur kissed his cheek and then drew back, "Go with Eva."

"N-nope," Alfred buried his face in Arthur's neck. "Not happening."

The man sighed, "You could've been killed or worse for their entertainment. They've been stalking you for ages. They're responsible for your death last week. They've caused you pain, they've caused you torment, they've-"

"And I have a favor to ask," the King announced; his young voice cutting across the tunnel.

"The fucking gall," Alistair muttered.

"Your Highness, no!" Elwin exclaimed.

"Great Hero America," the young fae began. "Having fought a long and exhausting battle to determine the merits of thy strength, mind, and spirit, I ask thee now to prove thyself one final time. Be a true friend of the Fae and reopen the portals of your land."

"Like you have the moral high ground to claim shit," Alistair growled.

Alfred tugged at the linen shirt peeking out between the chain and wrist guard on Arthur's arm—thoroughly spooked by what was taking place, "That...That's what Osha keeps writing me about!" Alfred glowered at the royal, "Who told you?!"

The boy's face puckered, "Don't interrupt. I have one more paragraph. I-I memorized this. Blast-it's getting away," the child closed his eyes, curled his hands in his hair and pulled slightly. His eyes snapped back open and he hastily set his hands back down at his sides.

"Right. Ahem, Great, Heroic, Brenhin. I ask thee to mend the bonds tying your land to ours and-"

"Have you been messing with my mail?" Alfred demanded hotly.

"No!" the child snapped.

"What is it you want, dude?"

"I wanted this to be perfect," the child pouted and crossed his arms. "...you were actually s'posed to _**lose**_ the Third Task and then I would've swooped in all merciful and used this Quest as an opportunity for you to redeem yourself."

"Puh-lease, I'm America! I get the job DONE."

"Preach!" Tex called.

"Precisely, and I need you to get a job UN-done!" the child spat.

Alfred blinked, "H-huh?"

The kid sighed and straightened his sleeves, "Every Seelie and UnSeelie ruler endeavors to undertake one great task in their reign. _**You**_ are essential to mine."

"My child owes you _**nothing**_ ," Arthur growled as he tugged Alfred closer.

"I've seen you," the child king gushed and clasped his clawed hands together entreatingly. "In the woods, in the wars, in the skies...I...I've seen you do great things. I know you can do it. You're the one who did it in the first place!"

There were multiple reactions of "What?"

"America locked the gates!" The King insisted as he pointed a finger. "Lome glimpsed it when he granted the wish. It wasn't some strange phenomena as we'd all been led to believe. They were blocked. In 1814, _**he**_ locked the gates. We've had fae stranded over there for centuries!"

"Uh, why didn't they take boats?" Tex asked.

"Cause fae suck at creating transportation. They've got no patience with crafts that take weeks to produce," Scot scoffed. "Why do you think they stay stationed here with us? Mum said when the land bridges were flooded and Britannia became an island, they didn't know what to do. Idgits."

The child ruler scratched an ear, "It's also difficult for trolls and banshees to travel unnoticed in small, confining spaces. Like...boats...or planes or trains..."

"So...no econoclass arrangements…" The Texan concluded.

"There were so many clans torn apart. We fear there are some even trapped in the Ether itself! You're a hero...rescue them... _ **please**_?" His voice broke off.

Alfred stared—feeling his heart sink. He did that? "Dude, it's like the most Epic Bender Blackout in History!"

"Ha! Nah, it wasn't laddie. You turn 21, Eire and I'll tell ya stories!"

Alfred rubbed at his forehead—at the painful pressure there, "Geez, I feel like I'm gonna find out I sacrificed a goat and created the recipe for marmite while I was at it."

"Then we have an accord?" The UnSeelie grinned, revealing sharp canine teeth.

"Alfred, no, wait," Arthur rasped. "We'll discuss it and figure something out."

America sighed, "If it's my fault...I need to reverse it."

The UnSeelie ruler beamed, "And in return Valiant Hero, I shall grant thee a wish of magnitude."

Elwin blanched, "What?! No, sir. Let him complete the task. Alert the Seelie Court, their magic is better equipped for such wish granting. And they'll be every bit as grateful as us! You'll bankrupt our kingdom's magic if you insist-"

"I want to do it. So I shall."

"Sir!?"

"I can restore you to greatness. To the heroic form you've lost."

The temptation was great. He could change back into what his government wanted, his people admired, his fellow nations respected...

"I wish…"

"Alfred, don't!" Arthur raggedly pleaded as he shook him. "We'll find another way."

"Laddie, no! Think _Monkey's Paw_!"

Or he could do something for himself for a change, "...the hex on me was gone."

He blinked as the UnSeelie King disappeared from the other side of the room in a wisp of smoke.

He reappeared uncomfortably close, eyes glowing with lurid light and a frightening whirlwind encircled them, "Granted."

There was an explosion of pain on the left side of his face as the fae gouged claw tipped fingers into his eye socket.

Strange lettering surrounded him again and he felt wet warmth spill down his cheek.

The fae pulled.

And he watched, feeling strangely disconnected from his body, from the person holding him tightly, from the voice desperately calling his name...

"Hex of the Doubting Eye!" The UnSeelie King announced. His young voice loud and commanding and fierce. He triumphantly crushed the organ in his hand and fluid ran in rivulets down his forearm. "Lifted."

And then Alfred was falling, falling, falling into darkness.

* * *

Read & Review Please : DDDD

One Chapter Left!


	67. Chapter 67

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or Michael's the Craft store. Or Facebook. Or Peter Pan. Or the Monkey's Paw.

 **Warning:** Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Made up word: King-let (as opposed to the actual word: Kinglet which refers to a species of bird). Drama. Angst. Fluff. Family.

 **AN:** : DDD The time hath come. Thank you so much for reading! Review if you can! I love seeing your responses! : DDD

 **Chapter** **67: Nest**

* * *

The swingset creaked and the swing's chains jangled as Alfred pumped his legs.

Alfred sighed and contemplated his boots against the gray sky.

The past few days had been...weird.

If he'd thought readjusting to life after the Wendigo Fiasco and a resizing was tough, this was a whole new category of difficult and now he had a Portal Quest to embark on.

He held his legs straight and let his momentum dissipate.

It was one thing to know the book of your life was missing some pages. You could look at the present and guess the context. It also wasn't too big a deal to get his Roanoke Prologue back. Some sad bits, some underlying explanations for why he was who he was. Still, it didn't change the storyline he was living.

But…

This...

Finding out that the book you've known so well really had half its contents torn out the whole time…and now you were suddenly getting it all back? Except...yeah...Monkey's Paw.

The pages were being returned all out of order and cropped up at inopportune moments. He felt like a videogame protagonist with obfuscating amnesia.

Obfuscate?

From obfuscatus...past participle of obfuscare...Latin...meaning "to darken."

Holy crap!

He was getting some of his Latin back! Sure he made it a point to know all of his states' mottos and to know certain scientific taxonomies. But he'd accepted that most of his studying from the 1700s and early 1800s had been blasted out.

He blinked and shivered.

It was like becoming a new person...er becoming an old pers...uh...having two yous superimposed.

Hella disorienting.

Heck, he'd already been dressed and downstairs this morning before he'd realized he'd put on brown trousers, a white button up and a dark vest.

Practically 18th Century Wear! Arthur had stared at him for a long moment before shaking it off and complimenting, "I see you've regained your tasteful fashion sense."

And Alfred had been so relieved to see Arthur smile and tease him, he couldn't even quip something snappy back.

Smiles from him had been rare lately since Alfred had woken up in Arthur's bedroom back at Kirkland manor a few days ago. It wasn't real great for him either, coming too with a bunch of gauze wrapped around his head and no memory of being treated or transported.

 _Alfred blinked hard—adjusting to the dim lighting and realizing he was seeing through only one eye. His depth perception was screwed._

 _Dread pooled in his stomach as he sat up._

 _Arthur's arms around him were dead weight and the old man was snoring, which meant he was exhausted. He carefully wriggled free of Father and the bedding. Arthur whimpered and Alfred felt a twinge through his heart. He dutifully pulled the covers up to Arthur's chin and tucked him in. He then shuffled back to his side of the bed, swung his legs over and slid down._

 _He passed Rhys who was sleeping in a chair nearby._

 _He approached the full length mirror...caught sight of himself and-and...bawled._

The swing's chain rattled and a harsh wind blew the collar of his shirt. The sky was darkening. It was probably gonna rain some more.

He sighed as he thought about his reaction to the eye gouging.

If he took it hard, Dad took it harder.

 _The Briton fell out of bed with a crash and scrambled over to him with a bleary Rhys on his heels._

 _Father seized him in a fierce embrace, "Itsalrightitsalrightitsalright."_

 _It_ _ **was**_ _alright. It was just an eye...not a leg, or a hand or a lung...but Alfred was vain. He knew that he was overreacting, but this was right on his face for all to see!_

 _Unintelligible grief burbled out of Alfred's mouth._

 _And then Father wept._

"Alfred?"

He gasped.

"I'm sorry I...I…" Olivia got flustered. She moved her hands several times as she tried to gesticulate. Her bracelets clanged and jingled with the spastic movements. "I didn't meant to-I told myself to come up on the-but I couldn't remember which er-"

"My left side is my bad side."

"Injured side," she corrected stiffly. "Look...it's...it's getting cold. I-I've got your coat here."

He stared at the gray double-breasted coat and felt his bottom lip tremble.

"W-what is it?"

Guilt crowded in...it was a real downside to remembering...he knew now that he hadn't just destroyed one doll centuries ago in revenge for her nasty treatment of him.

He'd gone into her room and trashed it in an angry fit. Throwing and stomping her prized collection with a burning infantile rage.

"I'm sorry I broke your dolls!" he blurted. "I was so angry. You were better at Court Manners then me and Arthur was so proud of you and you got to have more cookies and praise and he took you with him to dine with the Royals and-what I am saying? _**Were**_? Are! _Are_ better at Court stuff...than I'll ever be..."

Olivia stared, blinked, and then chuckled. She took in a deep breath, looked up at the sky and murmured, "Heh...that...heheheh that...was such a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but I'm sorry! I knew how much they meant to you and I-"

She smiled at the coat in her hands, "Then I accept your apology."

He blinked—caught off guard, "Ack! I-I just want you to know...I feel so bad. It was so unheroic! I-"

"I really rubbed that dinner in your face," she murmured nostalgically and then scrutinized him and then her dark eyes widened as if she was having a realization, "You...you ate alone a lot, huh? Jamaica and I would bicker but...we were together and we visited with the other islands and..."

"..."

"Here," she tossed his coat to him.

Alfred put it on—eager for a task that would delay him from having to answer.

He was surprised when she moved behind him to give his swing a push.

"Rhys told me you had a hex...it kept you from remembering us and from...wanting to visit."

He watched his feet as the ground beneath went to and fro, "Yeah…"

"And you broke it."

"…I wanted to come home."

"That sounds pretty heroic."

Alfred shyly peeked over his shoulder, "Y-you think so?"

"A right Ulysses."

* * *

"Hex of the Doubting Eye?" Reilley asked as he added some gin to his cuppa and peered at the cellphone in Eva's hand.

"Aye, tha's what he said," Alistair replied.

"Whasit mean?" Reilley pressed.

The Scotsman glared, "I dunno. He wasn't feelin' real converversational after Arthur was through with him."

Eva pressed play, "I started recording after Alfie ran up to Artie. My Ex always said record shit in case there's a trial...it was one of the better pieces of advice he ever gave me."

Reilley winced at the chaos, "Oooh me."

"Aye," Scotland took a long drag and exhaled smoke, "Flipped his shit. Backhanded that brat so hard he flew halfway 'cross the room. Snapped a wing clean off. That's gonna be fun regrowing. Don't worry, I wrestled Albion's sword away from him before he could go Crusade-happy. He was also pretty distracted stemmin' the blood flow—"

When the video ended Eire looked away feeling nauseous, and saw Texas was eyeing the box of cigarettes. Scotland noticed too and deliberately moved it further away.

"You _do_ think he'll be alright though?" Reilley bit his lip—feeling guilty that he hadn't really volunteered to go. Maybe he could've prevent it. "That...that looked...ugh. Just plucked it like a daisy."

"He's tough!" Tex piped up. "He's just moping. He's always a big baby when he gets hit in the face. He'll shake it off. You'll see."

Mr. Gray made a sound of displeasure. When it became clear that they'd be discussing the UnSeelie Calamity, he'd made it a point to linger somewhat inconspicuously in the corner reviewing his payment ledgers for the seasonal staff—since the holiday was wrapping up.

"Rhys said the UnSeelies were sending us an S.O.S," Reilley threw in.

"Aye, they knew their King had a fixation on Alfred. Built him a creepy shrine of mad stalker photos. Mannequins wearing his clothes. The works."

Reilley shuddered, "Say what?"

Eva and Mr. Gray leaned in—expressions horrified.

"Don't worry. I told them that shit had to stop or we'd exact a royalties toll from their flesh. That got them persuaded pretty fast. We're still going to have to cleanse all of Alfred's estates of shadow portals. Uh, warning though, we're probably going to receive all that shrine crap by post."

Texas sighed, "America gets fans. Some of 'em are creepy. Glad you've put a stop to it. I wondered why he never liked being alone...stalked by UnSeelies...that'd do it. Still. If they can make these here shadow portals, why do they need him to-"

Reilley shook his head, "Nah, only fae that use shadows can travel through 'em."

"But Eva and Al and I-"

"That was a badoch. They're powerful. And we were in an elferingewort, whole damn estate was moved halfway into the Ether!" Reilley shuddered. "That made things much easier for 'em. From what you tol' us, Al was smart to demand safety for the guests. Can yeh imagine? Openin' the door to the loo could've led ya somewhere else entirely!"

"But why?!" Mr. Gray demanded. "Why on Earth would they go to such lengths to-"

"Touched in the head. Elwin, his advisor," Scottie threw in for their benefit. "Said the brat lost his parents during Beltane's Day. German bombs."

"Oh," Eva mumbled sympathetically. "That's horrible."

"Guess he saw America dogfight with an enemy. Sacrificed his plane to take a Kraut out and parachuted. Landed in the trees. They all ended up traveling the same way. Saw that Al never gave up the fight. Fixated on him ever since. And started collecting shit. Rest of the UnSeelies joined in."

"Yeah," Eva cut in. "It was mad, Reilley. Mad. I got pics! I...tha's….so weird," she muttered. "There's...just a few here and there...but no, it was packed!"

"O, I believe ya," Reilley assured. "Some don't come up on film, and...some do."

"Like Nessie," Scotland remarked fondly.

Eva slid her phone back in her pocket, "Still...yeah the Lil' King-let has a sad backstory but...poor Alfie. This is a rough way to usher in the New Year."

Reilley sighed, "Aye, that's why Arthur's trying to soften it. You sure it's alright we keep you on for tonight?"

"O'course!" Eva insisted. "I got Emma for all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. S'only fair he gets her for all of New Year's. Dan and his parents have the day all planned. I'd have just been in my flat by m'lonesome self tipping back schnapps."

Reilley nodded. Arthur was determined to end the year on a high note for Alfred. Considering the first breakfast following the incident, when they were all debating on what the official story ought to be, he couldn't blame him.

" _If you're scared Parliament'll ask, just say I fell down the stairs and landed on something sharp," Alfred offered. When they stared at him, he admitted, "I don't have to report anything on my end."_

 _Alfred shrugged as he nibbled a bagel, "If it doesn't involve collateral damage or affect my ability to serve, and I'm not serving right now, I don't have to report it. It'll save time and paperwork. They like it better that way."_

The stony expression Arthur wore after hearing that. The confirmation that Alfred dealt with neglect on a regular basis...

The sewing machine had been humming long into the night the past few days. Despite all of them telling Arthur just to defer to Amazon.

* * *

Alfred's cheeks puffed as he looked up from his K'nex. He'd brought them out when he noticed everyone had congregated in the Drawing Room. Olivia and the girls had "stuff" to do and now he didn't want to be alone. But the topic of their current conversation!

He glared at the Scotsman, "Uncle Al!? You're not saying THIS," He pointed to his bandage. "Is _**my**_ fault?!"

"Aye, I am. You're so damned wrapped up in your instant gratification. Ya couldn't wait for a full moon and a larger coven. Norway owes me a favor. He'd'a come if I asked. And Romania likes talking Eire's ear off. S'funny seein' someone who can keep up with him."

His Irish uncle looked up from a magazine, "Guess I should be thankin' you boyo, ya saved me havin' to fake hospitality to the blathering idgit."

Alfred looked around and spotted his brother snacking on nachos.

"Texas, be my backup! I had an opportunity, I couldn't let it expire! They're like Michael's coupons! Use it when you get it!"

The brunet blinked and crammed tortilla chips in his mouth.

"Tex?!"

More chips went in.

Frustrated and outnumbered, Alfred threw down a plastic green cog and stomped away. He was planning on going up and grabbing some more toys. Cuz it'd make him feel better and make Alistair grumble about tripping hazards. He was nearing the entryway when he heard-

"But must you go _**now**_?" Arthur asked desperately.

Alfred watched through the stairs' balusters.

The front doors were open—letting in some mist and the sound of a downpour.

Mathieu was poised on the threshold. He sighed and gripped the handle of his rolling suitcase, "I...I'm having a lot of trouble adjusting to...everything lately. You...Alfred...where I fit in-"

"Where you-What the devil are you going on about?" England bristled. "Of course you fit in! _Of course_ you do-"

The Canadian smiled and shifted his weight, "Thanks. I-I just...I realize that I need to find out more about my own origins. So I can feel...more secure in...myself. I have to go now or...I won't and I'll just wonder..."

"And Sweden knows you're coming?" Arthur asked—with that distracted air that meant he'd probably already asked that several times.

"Yes. I-I set it up. He, Sealand, Finland, and I are set to watch fireworks. It should be...fun."

Arthur sighed unhappily, "Alright...well...mind the crowd."

"I will."

"Be vigilant at the airport."

"Yes."

"Don't overindulge. Finland has a high tolerance!"

Mathieu smiled, "I won't."

"Very well. Very...well...just...promise me this," He pulled a surprised Canadian into an embrace. "No matter what you find...or don't, or if...whenever you need a break or sanctuary or anything... _anything_...just...know that you can _**always**_ come home, my boy."

Not long after that, the door shut and from the window Alfred spied Mattie entering a taxi.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Rhys asked as he descended the staircase. "Look, we're going to get to the bottom of Eliza's orders. I promise you-"

"No, it's not...it's," Arthur sniffled—rubbing his eyes on his sleeve, "You finally get the fledgling that fell out, back in the nest...and another one goes and takes flight." He motioned to the door.

"What?" Rhys rushed over to the window.

"Mathieu's spending New Year's elsewhere," Arthur murmured.

"Since when?!"

"Since-"

Alfred sighed. _Geez, Mattie. What a time to run out on us_ , he thought. The old man was already feeling low. Why wouldn't he? He'd wasted most of his long awaited party tracking a wayward Alfred down and then tending to him. Everyone had left between yesterday and that morning. Attending the ball was just a pitstop in a lot of the guests' holidays plans on their way to grand New Year's Eve Events.

Even most of their Winter Company had packed up and gone:

Kaoru had New Year's plans with China. Wy, Australia, and New Zealand had a Disney Cruise to catch. Sweden had picked up Sealand last night.

Alfred had actually watched the kid go with a little disappointment. The kid had been pretty nice to him. He managed to convince the U.K. Bros that Alfred deserved to play video games in Arthur's Master Bedroom. They hefted the TV from the ex-War Room in. Sealand, Texas, Jamaica, and America had played a ton of _Mario Kart_ with Peter insisting they were helping Alfred's hand-eye coordination. Plus, he liked hearing all the gory details of losing an eye. Talking about it with someone who thought it was exciting rather than gross or sad...might've even helped a little.

The two Europeans continued their conversation in more hushed tones.

Alfred leaned in closer and then two meaty fists landed on either side of his had and a brutal noogie began.

"What have I tol' ya about EAVESDROPPING!?" Scotland ranted.

Alfred wailed, "WAHHH! I'm _**wounded**_ , you're not allowed to pick on me-"

"THE HELL I CAN'T!"

* * *

Alfred was trying to lay low while his Uncle Al calmed down.

Luckily, Arthur and Rhys hadn't been too mad. Though they'd rather coolly asked what he was up to, skulking about.

 _Alfred fidgeted, "I-I dunno, I was gonna get Hop and Willy, but you were having a moment with Mattie and I...I didn't want to interrupt."_

They had seemed taken aback by that.

" _You wouldn't have been," Arthur told him kindly._

" _..." He was starting to get the feeling that Mattie would've disagreed._

" _Alfie...be honest love."_

 _He looked up, irrationally half-afraid of what he'd ask next._

 _Arthur's eyebrows drew together, "Did he tell you goodbye?"_

" _...no,"_ _To his own chagrin, his voice cracked._

He was then whisked into a tight hug and carried back to the Drawing Room. Arthur's serious face with his "Doom" eyebrows scared the inhabitants out.

The next few hours passed languidly. Alfred was stretched out on a quilt in front of the fireplace playing with Americat and Camelot as it stormed outside.

Rhys was reclining on the sofa, reading a book. Arthur was in the wingback rocking chair. Alfred wasn't exactly sure where everybody else had gone but he was shooed away from answering the door when some kind of delivery truck came by.

"Hey," Alfred reached a hand out to tug at Arthur's trouser leg.

The Englishman stopped rocking his chair, "Mmhmm?"

"I...I wanted to tell you…"

Arthur made brief eye contact and then counted the stitches of his needlepoint.

"Remember how upset you got a while ago and how everybody had those happy stories for you? I couldn't remember mine...til now."

Arthur paused and looked at him, confused—setting his needlework aside.

"You were home early and came into the village to find me. I was in the box. You remember? How they draw it with chalk?"

With his fingers he traced the shape into the quilt he was sitting on. The indents made a rough rhomboid.

"Said I was insolent. Had to hold a sign that said so. When I saw you standing across...I was so mortified that you had to see me. And you were so angry...I feared that...but then you-you-you took the sign and snapped it over your knee and tossed it at their shins. And you made them afraid and you...heh...called them fools and-and other things and you picked me up and carried me away. And we visited the bakery and I got to wear your hat."

Arthur sat down beside him.

Alfred beamed, "I-I knew...I wanted be like that…"

Arthur reached his arms around and smoothed away the drawn lines.

Alfred's face heated up, "I wanted to be like you."

Arthur's watch ruined the moment by beeping.

"Time for your medicine, Sweet. Rhys, did you boil that water like-"

Rhys raised an eyebrow, "Have I failed to boil the water at any time?"

He was led away to Arthur's private bathroom suite once more. Rhys brought the water in while Arthur set Alfred on the white marble counter. Arthur thanked him and then dismissed him.

Alfred traced the gray streaks running through the slab and then gazed at the ships that had caught his attention each time he was in there.

"You like those?"

"Yes."

Arthur surprised him by taking one off the shelf and handing it to him.

Alfred turned it over carefully.

Arthur washed his hands meticulously.

"Clipper Ship," Arthur mentioned after he toweled his hands off. He came over and unwound Alfred's bandages—commenting on the speed of the vessels, but the lack of cargo space.

He talked easily on the subject as he worked—like it wasn't unsettling to stare at the gaping hole in Alfred's face. Let alone reach in and swab mucus out of it.

When Arthur got to dripping medicated eye drops into the socket, he commented, "You're healing very nicely."

Alfred sighed, "It took me years to regrow it last time."

Arthur frowned, "Don't worry, love. This one will come back far sooner. You're a healthy nation. This one's not hexed. And that was the early 1800s. I daresay our practical knowledge of medical cleanliness has increased exponentially. We'll keep it nice and clean and I think you'll be surprised how swiftly it returns."

Alfred gently touched the model ship's rigging.

Arthur finished up, "That's you done, my dear...I was wondering though..."

"Yeah?" he asked dully.

"I've kept it in good shape. Usually wear it to festive events. I've cleaned it thoroughly and adjusted the strap."

Arthur pulled a drawer open—signifying he'd hidden whatever it was in there earlier.

It was a small nearly flat box. Arthur opened it and removed a red jeweled black leather eyepatch.

"A bit more stylish than bandages, I think. A little less trench warfare."

"You've worn it?"

"O yes," Arthur chatted as he set it on Alfred's face and adjusted the strap to lie correctly, "Costume Parties, Carnevale…" He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially "Plundering the Spanish Main."

Alfred nearly dropped the model ship.

Arthur cleaned up the area, placed the ship back on its shelf, and hoisted Alfred up on his hip.

"How's your ankle?" Alfred asked. The Briton still had a slight limp. America had gawked at Mr. Gray when the elderly man detailed England flat out cracking it off with his bare hands.

Dude, those things usually needed saws to come off!

"Perfectly fine. Now I think it's time for a snack."

Alfred's eye narrowed curiously. Arthur's energy seemed...charged somehow.

Alfred was suspicious when they moved toward that one spot—the one the others called...something Leviathan. Was he gonna get the scolding of a lifetime?

Only as they entered, Alfred found the sterile green parlor room had been reinvented!

"AHOY!" A group of nations and humans cried in unison—all decked in pirate gear!

Seychelles, Jamaica, Eva, and Barbados seemed thrilled to be in Pirate Wench outfits.

Though, Arthur tutted a bit at the plunging necklines.

"Didn't need to be wholly authentic," he grumbled.

 _Have a JOLLY New Year_ was on a banner. Or rather the ' _Happy'_ had been crossed out. And there were Jolly Rogers and treasure chests with chocolate foil coins and plastic swords in a barrel.

And OMG! Fake parrot! He squeed. He needed it!

Gobsmacked, he turned to look at Arthur who was accepting a magnificently plumed Captain's Hat with his free hand from Reilley.

He placed it on Alfred's head.

"Captain," he smirked.

Alfred felt his face heat up as he grinned, "Thank you, First Mate!"

"Al!" Tex squawked—utterly scandalized by what he'd heard.

Alfred gasped and backpedaled, "O-other First Mate!"

Alfred turned to Arthur desperately, "A Captain can have...I mean a-a _Pirate_ Captain can have two First Mates, right?"

Arthur's face said _No_ , his voice answered, "Uncommon."

"W-well, I'm not exactly known for being by the book-"

"Oh no," Tex crossed his arms. "You named _**him**_ first."

"W-well, you're not dressed!" Alfred pointed out.

"Neither's he!"

"Not yet," Arthur scoffed as he gestured to a costume draped over a chair.

"But he IS a pirate," America reasoned. "He's bonafide. A Knight Pirate Cadeyrn."

Arthur stared at the title and then smirked at Texas, "And a First Mate."

"And you're a random cowboy..." Alfred shrugged.

"In a seascape-pirate-themed festivity," Arthur followed up with a heavy frown.

Olivia put a hand on her stripe-skirted hip, "I put your costume on your bed, you dingbat."

"I sees how it is," Texas grouched. "You're movin' in. Huh, Art? I don't back down from a fight though. Just so you know."

"..."

"And on land you're my deputy!" Alfred assured. "But ya see, the tiles are sea green. So it's like the ocean, and we're sailing right now, so-"

"Fiiine," Texas stalked off to a table decked with snacks and a big bowl of punch. He began filling a cup to the brim.

"Is it spiked?" Alfred asked.

"Better not be," Arthur's eyebrows twitched as he walked them over a chair with costumes.

He set Alfred down and handed him a dark blue brocade frock coat with gold trimmings.

No tags with machine wash instructions...

He felt his heart expand. "You... _ **made**_ this for me?! When'd you get the time?" He hugged it close. "You didn't have to!"

He still happily put it on.

Arthur didn't reply, he just pulled a carefully folded blue silk ribbon from his pocket.

Alfred brightened even more, "You got it back?! You got it back! Father, however did you manage it?"

Arthur beamed and carefully tied it around Alfred's collar in a bow.

Soon the music was cranked up, everyone was wearing a costume (except Texas) and the party was in full-swing.

Though Uncle Al's getup was just...weird.

"You're in a kilt!" Alfred argued. "A kilt can't just be your go-to costume. That's lazy."

"Oi! It's what I wore in _my_ pirate days!"

"You pillaged in a dress!?" Tex asked.

"Aye, he did boyo. Which was why he had to win those raids! Cuz if ya lose in a dress-"

"Ack, shut it!"

"Hey Cap'n Blinky," Tex greeted scathingly as he offered Alfred a platter of crab meat appetizers.

The look Arthur directed at Texas could've made battery acid seem harmless, but Alfred had it covered.

"That's Captain Blindside!" Alfred hollered back.

Texas blinked, "Damn. Daaamn. Little brother, that's good!"

America grinned, "I know, right? I've been feeling so creative again."

"That's great Al."

"Picture time!" Eva called out. "Pictures! Pictures!"

"Look, I'll be the photographer for a group one," Texas declared. "Y'all are dressed. So stand together."

After three tries and the assurance that all present eyes were open, Alfred studied the pic on Tex's phone.

England hovered by his elbow.

"I..I look okay?"

"Roguishly, handsome."

"...I'M GONNA PUT IT ON FACEBOOK!" America cheered.

* * *

That night, after an epic New Year's Countdown involving sea shanties and shots (that Alfred didn't get to partake in, much to his disappointment), everyone shuffled off to bed.

Figuring his dad was down for the count, Alfred thought himself clever to sneak out of their bedroom, grab some supplies, and make his way down to the library with a project in mind.

He picked a quiet corner out of immediate view of the doorway and discreetly moved a writing desk over. He then selected Arthur's new copy of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ from its spot on the library shelf.

Father cherished notes and presents—he had dim memories of being very young and Arthur showing him that he kept all of the books of pressed blooms he sent.

" _I keep them here in my office, Sweet. It makes me so happy you shared your Spring flowers with me. My thoughtful boy..."_

...Funny how he'd...forgot all that…

Well, if _this_ didn't improve Arthur's melancholic mood, he wasn't sure what would!

All was going according to his Master Scheme...er...Plan...er, Master Plan...when-

"Alfred," Arthur yawned and frowned—tapping a slippered foot.

He flushed as he was caught with quill in hand. He hastily moved it over the inkwell in case it dripped.

"Do you know what time it is?" the Briton's brows were furrowed and his eyes were shadowed.

The single candle on the desk made everything seem a bit spooky to be honest.

Alfred nodded distractedly as he looked at the ornate clock on the far wall, he could just make out the numbers, "It's the Witching Hour."

Arthur seemed briefly stunned and then smiled, "Well, if you've no cauldron to tend or spell to cast, then I think a return trip to bed is in order."

"I-I can't...It...it's still wet...If I close it, it'll bleed and smear or stick."

Arthur sauntered over in his houserobe. He carefully took the blotting paper, Alfred had filched from his desk.

He handled it with an ease that sparked a twinge of envy, which apparently Arthur felt and was amused by. He tousled Alfred's hair in response.

"I've done quite a bit of quillwork, Sweet," Arthur replied as he worked.

"You're ruining your surprise," Alfred pouted—cheeks puffing.

"O Am I?" Arthur drawled.

"Yes. I was gonna leave it for you in the morning!"

Arthur cradled the book in one hand and held the pewter candle holder in the other.

Expressionless, he read over Alfred's song. Alfred squirmed a bit in his seat. It was penned in the best curly lettering Alfred could manage. Maybe the grammar wasn't perfect but...at least it looked nice! Better than his first attempt to write something nice years ago!

Then Arthur's lips curved in a warm smile, and Alfred knew he'd reached the newly added lyric.

 _Til Somebody loved me in Winter,_

 _In Summer, and Autumn, and Spring,_

 _In Good Times and Bad Times_

 _And All Times between._

 _That Someone who loves me is Thee._

"Indeed," Arthur murmured softly—eyes crinkling. " Indeed."

* * *

Once again,

we have reached an end.

Thanks for coming

and if you'll lend

your minds and legs

for the upcoming instruction:

Head out to the lobby

and grab a confection.

In the next theater over,

view Act Three's Attraction.

* * *

 _COMING SOON_

 **Gramarye**

England struggles to relax following an emotionally trying year. Distraught over governmental deceptions from both sides of the pond and concerned with America's well-being and his blossoming magic, he takes steps to solidify his role in the boy's life. Unfortunately, what should be a leisure camping trip before Beltane's Day goes awry when Alfred acts on a hidden agenda...and a hinkypunk's directions. Threequel to Wendigo.

Rated T for Language and Violence. NO PAIRINGS. Father Son Fic

Family/Drama/Supernatural

* * *

 _ **Preview:**_

* * *

England felt his stomach swoop as his feet left the snowy ground, "Alfred, Alfred, wait. Ahhh!"

America giggled and squeezed his hands. He understood now why Alfred didn't want either of them wearing gloves for this.

The boy's scarf tickled at Arthur's nose at that precise moment and he sneezed, "Alfred, no, I really don't think this is-"

The child let out an aggravated whine, "O come on, it's not like I'd deliberately drop you."

So...if he _**was**_ dropped it'd be by accident. How reassuring.

Arthur nervously cleared his throat, "Let's-ahhh" the boy's flight dipped. "Let's go inside. We'll practice with cushions!"

Alfred's cheeks puffed, "Rhys was a much better sport."

Arthur's jaw dropped in shock and then he glowered, "You practiced with Rhys before _**me**_?!"

Alfred looked away as he blushed, "I wanted to work some kinks out before I took you."

"Humph!"

Alfred sighed, "Cuz I knew you were gonna be a killjoy like this!"

"A killjoy!?" He rasped indignantly. "Because I'm a smidge concerned about watching my legs dangle in the breeze?"

"We're barely three feet up!" Alfred argued. "God, I knew it'd be like carriage driving practice. You freaking out cuz I'm the one holding the reigns!"

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, "I was calmer than Reilley or Rhys, if you remember?"

Alfred blinked and laughed suddenly, "I DO remember. It came down to you and Uncle Al teaching me!"

Arthur smiled, "That's right."

His memories were returning. Arthur felt his eyes sting a bit. He was so happy. The child was remembering.

Only it seemed to boost his confidence, and Alfred levitated higher and higher.

Arthur swallowed nervously, "Alfie?! S'good practice. Let's float down now. Nice and easy and slooow."

"Where's your Peter Pan spirit?" Alfred crowed—swinging him in a lazy circle. "Where's your crow's nest calm?"

It was highly discomfiting seeing treetops whirl beneath him.

"Eeep."

He watched one wellie (because honestly he had not expected anything strenuous) slip off his foot and fall from the fatal height.

"O God."

He took a deep breath and endeavored to look up at Alfred instead.

Alfred gasped and Arthur's stomach plummeted.

"I just remembered! Oh, oh, when I was Roanoke. I'd sometimes use a stick so I could more easily magick Ginnie into the air with me. We'd both sit on it, and I'd make it rise and-" A curious look passed over Alfred's face, "Hey Daddy, do you think New England still has witches?"

* * *

See ya in the Threequel! : D


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